Goddess
by HGRomance
Summary: In the heart of winter, one small town needs love. With each strike of her arrow, invisible but lonely Katniss is a master of matchmaking. Until she's forced to pair-up the mortal boy she yearns for. Mythology AU. Cupid. Banner by Ro Nordmann, delete spaces: h t t p:/tinyurl . com/bqw6qyj
1. Chapter 1

**This story is narrated entirely from Katniss's POV, and I've changed the mythology a bit for the purposes of the plot. Enjoy!**

**Thank you to my beta, DustWriter: Your PM messages made me chuckle :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own THE HUNGER GAMES trilogy. It belongs to Suzanne Collins. I merely want to spend more time with her characters.**

* * *

GODDESS

After the arrows strike, the lovers' bodies do the rest of the work. In the boy's bedroom, he and the girl get tangled up in his sheets. Adoration swallows the pair of teens before they know what's hit them...actually, that's wrong. They're incapable of knowing what just hit them. Katniss's weapon is as invisible to the world as she is.

Standing nearby, she looks on as the lovers writhe and swoon as if they're swimming in silk. Curtains of hair get pulled. Nails scratch and excavate a moan here, a gasp there. The humans neglect their textbooks and ride the tidal waves of first love.

First love. Fake love. It's all the same to her.

She hates serving these people. After centuries of the same thing, it has begun to have that effect on her.

Katniss leaves the couple to their pleasure and trudges home, combing through the streets of this rural mountain town. It's winter. The days are approaching the holiday called Christmas. Snow covers every rooftop like frosting, wrapping the world in shades of blue and silver. Strings of white lights and pine garlands festoon the houses. It's too hokey for her taste, but she admirers the dedication to tradition. And those somber carols people sing aren't that bad either. She begins to hum one of them.

To amuse herself—she is never too tired to be naughty—she walks right through an elderly woman with coarse, woolen hair, slipping inside the shrunken body like a cloud, thoroughly confusing the poor soul by making her feel as though a mini tornado has just blown through her.

Katniss exits the woman and blithely continues on her way. Heading to the woods, she passes boyfriends and girlfriends, wives and husbands. She inventories all the matches she's created.

_I brought them together. And them. And them...they were difficult. The old ones are always difficult. Virgins are easier. _

The sour taste of a quarrel gathers in her mouth as she passes a two-story wood cabin. The Saes are fighting again. Sighing, she peeks inside the window and watches the married couple argue in front of a neglected, half-decorated tree. She itches to finish ornamenting the tree herself. And fine, maybe a tiny part of her thinks it would be fun.

The Saes are wasting their time disagreeing about whose family to spend the holiday with. They're insulting one another's mothers. Katniss fixes the problem. She walks through the wall and into the living room, setting her bow, though she can't shoot the man in the heart. She'd done that when the couple first fell in love, but taking an arrow to the heart twice in one lifetime would kill. The passion would be too much to withstand.

Instead, she kisses the arrow and targets the husband's hand. The arrow disappears into his skin and flashes. It makes him stop yelling. With that same hand, he touches his wife's face, and she stops yelling, too. They smile.

"What were you saying?" he asks gently.

"We'll work it out," the woman answers.

They continue trimming the tree. A silver ornament rolls across the carpet like a toy and taps against the toe of Katniss's boot. It's pretty. She snatches it off the floor and dumps it in her arrow pack, hoping it won't break.

The Saes call their kids from upstairs, twins around twelve years old. The family sorts through green and red boxes while happily talking over one another. Katniss tilts her head. She has no idea what it means to be part of a family. It seems difficult having to agree with others all the time, having to share things, but life also seems less...quiet. It must be nice to swap a joke. A tease. A laugh.

She shakes herself and takes off. Now, she's really tired. Even deities need rest.

Climbing through the fence, the hem of her white linen dress sneaks up her thighs, revealing a column of olive skin. The dress's short length scarcely covers the hills of her bare backside, but she's not cold. She has the same senses as real people, only heightened. Yet her body temperature never changes. Sometimes she wonders what it's like to shiver. To sweat.

Reaching her favorite tree, she scales the trunk, flashing the woods with a feminine landscape all her own. She never bothers with undergarments. Why should she? Goddesses aren't shy, and as far as mortals go, only pure beings can see deities. A rarity. An impossibility.

Or so Katniss has been told by her fellow hunters: Anger, Sorrow, Bravery, Honesty. She doesn't know their real names, just as they don't know hers. As hunters, they address one another by their dominion instead. Though she doesn't see them often. They infest other landscapes, while she's been charged to this elevated but secluded part of the country, the one most in need of Love's help.

Settled on her usual branch, she hangs the silver ornament on the bough above her. There. Now, she has a Christmas tree, too.

She reclines backward. The rough upholstery of the bark scrubs her spine, her legs hang off the sides, and her booted feet swing like a set of bells. She picks her teeth carefully with the tip of her arrow. She wonders for the thousandth time if she truly would mind-warp herself if she accidentally got scratched with her own weapon. She'd been warned of this by Honesty. As daring, stubborn, and...oh yes, mischievous, The Heavens deem Katniss to be, she doesn't want to find out. She's not _that_ curious.

Katniss stops grooming her incisors. She shakes her head. She's aware that she has become disillusioned, because matchmaking used to be fun. Funny. Ridiculously funny. Back when her targets were tributes to her perverse game. Now, she finds her business annoying. A chore. Exactly what it is: a curse.

If mortals knew how to master the acrobatics of their own simple emotions, she wouldn't be forced to do it for them. The Heavens would have given her a different occupation. A less shallow one.

Love is so stupid. It makes people do foolish things like cry or jump off cliffs. Like a blanket, everything gets wild and tousled at first, and then once the lovers have lost their taste for firsts, they begin to disagree about the most comical things like jealousy and money. And because it's also her duty to maintain relationships as well as concoct them, she is obliged to smooth out the wrinkles and tidy up the mess the couples make of their passion. Preparing that blanket for another round of thrashing and gripping once she helps them get over their grievances. Mortals indulgently call it "make up" sex.

Katniss abandons her arrow and bow, setting them in a gap in the trunk, then rolls up her dress and curls her hand over herself. A thick sap drenches her fingers. The more nectar she produces, the emptier she feels, because this is her one damn quandary. The one thing that makes her long for mortality. She has no companion. She has to be enough for herself.

She isn't. She doesn't know why. And she doesn't like not knowing things.

She rubs herself until she's adequately exhausted. The sun begins to set. She closes her eyes. In twenty-four hours, she'll be given her new assignment. It always happens a full day later, and the victims' hearts always glow, singling them out to her. It's theatrical, really.

The current tickles her nose and brings with it the sounds of approach. Snow crunching beneath boots. Her dormant lids flip open, eyes focusing on the skeletal pattern of white-powdered branches above her. A distinct scent: young, strong, male. Close.

An unfamiliar scent: sincerity. She can smell, taste, and hear emotions. It's part of her job. The minty whiff of sincerity cartwheels through the forest and startles her. Such an exceptional aroma that never, never, never comes from a mortal. It causes her to accidentally roll sideways off her perch and into the air.

But she's fast. She hooks her fingers into the bark, dangles for a moment, smirks. If people could see her, if they knew who she was, they'd be confused, she thinks wryly.

Their first questions would be these: "Where are your wings? Why can't you fly?"

The next questions: "Aren't you supposed to be Venus? Isn't Cupid a man?"

Ah, mortals and their fanciful beliefs and misplaced facts.

She hoists herself back onto the branch and crouches on all fours, waiting. A blond head emerges below, bright as a candle in the frosty landscape. A boy. A teenage boy. A teenage boy with a hiccup in his stride, a slight limp.

Katniss lifts her nose, detecting another scent, a sugary one: creativity. He stops to survey the area, then digs through his tote bag, the contents rattling as he pulls out a sketch pad and color pencils.

She grins, suddenly wide awake and ready to play. She may not be visible to humans, but she can choose to either pass through or touch them. She usually contents herself with the former. The only times she has ever done the latter have been to antagonize people in their sleep or push them into the arms of their mate in a volatile attempt to get them together the old fashioned way.

She makes her decision. Jumping off the branch, she drops twenty feet and lands behind him with a resounding thud that causes the ground to ripple. She intends to jab at the art tools, knock the bag off his shoulder. This mortal deserves it for prying her from sleep. She is eager to scare him.

She is not prepared to for him to dart around.

And to see her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Musical inspiration for story: "Myth" by Beach House.**

* * *

They jump back at the same time. Katniss's body hits the tree. The boy stumbles and fights to regain his balance, his drawing materials landing in the snow. His chest heaves.

"Holy shit!" he says.

It can't be, she thinks. It can't. How can he see her? How?

"Holy shit!" the boy repeats, his breath punching the air. He scuttles backward, then stops. Blinks. Takes a good look at her.

Katniss does the same. Their heads tilt.

She is unfamiliar with the physical response that comes next. A break in her own exhalation. It makes her feel powerless. And worse, self-conscious. Her. A goddess.

He isn't gifted with height, but he wears a long coat fitted to suggest a wide chest and broad shoulders. His face is pale, including his lips, because of the cold. Snowflakes dapple his lashes like pearls. He has blue irises. Winter irises that remind her of frozen ponds.

He's the most beautiful thing she has ever seen.

"What the hell? Where did you come from?" he snaps.

His voice is an orchestra in this quiet, glacial world. It stamps itself into her, into that place humans call the heart, which she hadn't known she possessed until this moment. It's as though she's swallowed a drum. The instrument is pounding inside her. Is this what it's like to have a pulse?

What to make of this, she questions the forest, but the forest doesn't answer. The forest is heedless, too busy being part of the natural world to care. The forest is not helping. She feels as foolish as a mortal.

Those eyes of his glint like blades. "Are you lost?"

This insults her. Her mind is whirling and destroying everything in its path. He's moving toward her. She feels his advance with the force of a tempest. At the same time, she can't move. She is too curious.

_He sees me._

His gaze dips low, registering her dress's obscene lack of length. And she realizes what he must see. A girl in the middle of the forest, at near sunset, who'd just leaped to the ground from a dangerous height, wearing nothing but a feather-thin garment and lace-up boots. She hears the confusion strumming through his body, taste the reluctance pooling on his tongue from where she stands.

The boy with the wintry irises pulls off his coat. She'd been right about his chest. It's a living, breathing cliff beneath his shirt.

Something must be wrong with her. She is diseased. Why can't she get air between her lips?

The boy holds the coat out to her, his arm a bridge connecting them. "Here. Take it. Jesus."

Katniss ignores the coat. Up close, he is even more delicious, but he can't be human. Humans do not look like he does.

_Is he immortal?_

This is one of those times when touching is the best option.

She knocks the coat from his hand, seizes his shoulders, spins him around, and rams him into the tree. "Who are you?" she snarls.

Are her fellow hunters using this boy to play a trick on her? Have they gotten bored?

The boy's mouth falls open, but he doesn't resist. He's too startled.

"Who are _you_?" he dares respond.

Katniss loosens her grip. Her kind would fight back. Her kind would have expected an attack.

Now, she can smell the earth on him. Because he is not her kind. And of course, her kind does not limp.

Nor bruise. Why hadn't she noticed this before?

A purple mark trails across his cheek. The result of a blow. Draped in all these chilly colors, this boy looks as if he were made for the season, as if he'd been sculpted from an ice block. His aura is flavored with notable emotions: weariness, bitterness, solitude, wonder. He's nothing but a boy.

Still, Katniss refuses to let her guard down. His body stiffens beneath her fingers. She is unsure what this means, this reaction to her touch, because she has never made contact with a human for this long. And with deities, she prefers to keep her hands to herself unless in jest or sport. But she detects the suspense brewing in him and wonders if it's connected to his posture. How interesting. Perhaps this means she's testing his patience.**  
**

She decides to test it some more.

"What the—" he begins but doesn't finish.

Quivering skin. Soft skin. Her hand has barely begun tracing the wound on his cheek when she stumbles backward, releasing the boy so swiftly he has to grip the tree because of his bad leg.

Katniss clutches her fist. The tips of her fingers feel like bubbles bursting. This isn't right. Something isn't right.

"Hey..." he shouts but drifts off as she scales the tree like a bug.

She senses his shock on her way up—but it's not due to her speed. He can see into the opening of her dress. She should think it amusing. She doesn't. For the first time in eons, she wants to cover herself. She feels young around this boy. She may look his age, but she isn't.

Safe back on her branch, Katniss hides, a novel exercise that causes her face do things it isn't used to. Like squint.

"Hey. Girl with the braid," he says, his voice echoing through the woods.

Nothing.

"Answer me," he yells. No, demands. He demands. Who does he think he is?

Katniss huffs, strokes her braid, tries to contain herself. He rounds the tree, causing her to hop from bough to bough. She is quick enough to elude his sight, but this game of chase is a nettling chore that she doesn't like. Not when she's the target.

She hears him swear under his breath. He must not like the game, either. He needs to go away.

"Go away!" she pipes and then grabs her throat as the pain of disuse rips through her

He hedges, and she catches the floral scent of concern wafting from below.

"Go away, damn you!" she repeats.

"Fine." He swipes his coat off the ground, muttering that he must be hallucinating, then cursing as he gathers his art supplies because some of them have gotten wet. His limp is more pronounced as he takes the first few steps to leave.

Then he stops. Katniss presses her lips together, her nails stabbing the bark as she peaks her head around the tree to watch him.

The wintry boy turns and braces his foot on a nearby fallen log. He thumbs through his booklet until he reaches a dry page, then retrieves a fat, black pencil from his bag. She watches him bow his head for a moment, thinking, before he begins to draw. She listens to the scratching sounds he makes, swift and focused. She is surprised that this uneventful phenomenon doesn't bore her. Instead, she likes observing the way his knuckles flex.

But how long will he stay? The sun is almost down now.

Minutes later, he is finished. He folds the paper, places it in the pocket of his coat, and sets both items on the stump. He motions toward them.

"Freeze or don't freeze. I don't care," he lies, because she knows when mortals are lying, because Honesty taught her how to detect it.

He slumps away as if she's forced him to give up his only source of warmth. He departs from the forest, abandoning her to an isolated, white world. His uneven gait has left tracks in the snow like a signature. His signature.

Katniss peers at the sky. Even if he isn't immortal, he could be some sort of farce produced by her peers, although that would certainly be more her tenor than theirs. She debates whether she'll have a visit from whoever is playing this trick on her.

She creeps down to the spot where he left the coat. She presses it against her nostrils, inhales a troubled life but no self-pity. A strange mix of tartness and sweetness. Nothing to hide. Sincerity.

She is surprised to discover the wetness between her legs. It could have been so many things. The colorless lips. The bruise. The knuckles.

Digging through the coat's pocket, she finds the paper and smoothes it out. It's her likeness. Her chin. Her braid. Her mouth. It is a rough drawing completed quickly, but it's real. At the bottom, his handwriting loops across the page.

_My name is Peeta_

_But who is this girl?_

kpkpkpkpkp

She doesn't sleep. The night consists of staring. Staring at the boy's drawing of her, which she can do even in darkness. He'd gotten only a short look at her, yet he'd captured her in a way she finds disturbing. Especially the lines bunching in her forehead.

He'd made her look fierce. Distrustful. Aggressive. Katniss wouldn't want to be friends with the girl staring back at her. If he were to have sketched a softer version, a tired version, would she like it better? She cannot say.

She respects the image's directness. He hadn't been trying to polish the truth when he drew her.

She hasn't smiled for reasons other than playing pranks on humans in a long time. It melts her apprehension. Invites other sensations to leak through and vandalize her resolve in the most appealing way. Ensconced on the branch, she snuggles into his coat, holding the picture up with one hand, twirling one of her arrows like a baton with the other.

Liking anything about him puts her in danger. The mere sight of a kitten reduces humans to putty. They're physically weak, with feeble willpower and a high dosage of sentimentality. Ironically, this is also what gives them an advantage. Despite the iron grit of deities, mortals unknowingly have the capacity to seduce a deity into protectiveness and pity. With their emotional walls battered down, beings such as she can become obsolete. Frail. Buried under the quicksand of sensitivity. Invisibility is what keeps The Heavens in control and allows the Gods to regulate emotions throughout this world.

But this boy can see her. He is a pure one. He is one of those singular humans that can damage her while unaware that he's even doing it. If this knowledge were to reach The Heavens, he would be in just as much trouble. Katniss resents him for this because she feels compelled to shield him...or keep him away from her. Distance would protect them both.

But she is fascinated. He is an exotic breed of mortal.

"Peeta," she says, consuming the word like a grape after a long winter.

Katniss is conflicted, and she stays that way until the next morning, at which point her mood shifts to crankiness from sleep deprivation. Her taste buds long for something purple. She thinks of his wound, imagining how it would taste if she were to drape her tongue across it.

Morning turns into midday. Midday turns into afternoon. Knowing she still has time before getting her next assignment, she treks out of the forest and to the fence, scanning the district. When she locates his scent, she follows it. On her way, she repeats a mantra.

_I will not become weak. I will not become weak. I must know more, but I will not become weak for him._

Despite the hour, the sky is dim and all the windows in the area pulse with yellow light. A faint snowfall begins. The village is clearer, larger, more vibrant than it was yesterday. It looks and feels different. Nicer. She wonders if he's ever visited _that _market, _that _shop, _that _apothecary, maybe to buy something for his leg.

She tracks Peeta's uneven stride quickly. He's tying a scarf around his neck as he limps down the walkway of a bakery, which emits smoke from the chimney and a doughy aroma. A basket of bread is looped through his arm.

A woman pokes her melon-sized head out of the front door. Katniss stiffens as a sour taste collects in her mouth: hostility. This woman is unkind. Katniss's ears perk to the grating sound of rancor stretching between the stranger and Peeta. He has her blond hair and strong jaw.

This must be his mother. Unlike his wintry eyes, hers resemble black marbles. Nature must have been in a bad mood when she was born.

"Can't do anything right," she shouts.

As Peeta leaves, she thrusts her hand in his direction as though to say _good riddance_. Katniss can see on the woman's fingers the remnants of aggression, and just like that, she knows who is responsible for that bruise on his cheek.

Her mouth curls as she fantasizes about ways to repay the mother. But violent abuse of power is a despicable act, one The Heavens don't take lightly. It's judged and punished more harshly than, say, impishness. Besides, it's Anger's job to tame the beasts. Not that he's around when Katniss could actually use him.

While the mother continues her tongue-lashing, Peeta ignores her and sets down the basket. He leans over and makes a snowball, forming it slowly, nonchalantly. One long look at it, and then he's whipping around and hauling it at one of the bakery windows. The snowball throttles the partition hard enough to make it rattle. This impresses Katniss.

It shuts the mother up for a second before she crows, "Worthless," and slams the door shut.

Peeta expels a heavy breath, grabs the basket, and walks away. He wears a new coat, one size too big, perhaps from his father.

Katniss trails Peeta through the town, ducking behind trashcans and lampposts as he hand delivers rolls and loaves of bread to neighbors. Everyone is as happy to see him as the food. Their chatter pinches her with jealousy. The most meaningful relationships she has are with woodpeckers and owls. Not to mention that rabid raccoon that once tried to bite her—at which point, she made it fall in love with a black widow. It was funny watching them try to work things out without killing each other.

She realizes how pathetic this would sound if she told anyone. She's had the chance to frolic and fuck with other hunters, other deities. But she's never taken up the gauntlet on that, no matter how frustrated or lonely she's been. Her reasons are plentiful, if not very profound by a goddess's standards.

The last customer, a man reeking of intoxication and sadness, sways in his doorway and doesn't bother thanking Peeta. The man barks, "Keeping warm, boy?"

"No."

"That coat of yours is too big. What happened to that fancy one you had?"

Katniss draws said coat closer to her body. She longs to wrap herself in it the next time she touches herself.

Peeta shrugs. "Gave it away."

"There's a fine line between charity and stupidity, boy. Even in this town."

Katniss releases her hold on the coat. Charity?

The man sniffs in disapproval, but Peeta does not explain further. They say their goodbyes. Katniss grows angry with herself. What is she doing chasing after this mortal like...like one of her besotted targets?

She is so lost in her thoughts that she fails to detect the signs of an impending attack until halfway back to Peeta's home. He passes a pair of laughing boys his age, who seem to recognize him.

His limp gets worse. He keeps his head down as if he doesn't see them. But he knows. And Katniss knows that he knows.

The streets are so fraught with cold that there's no one around. Except Peeta. And these boys. Who begin to follow him.


	3. Chapter 3

It happens near the fence. Near the forest. Where there are no houses. It is the only route back to his house. Each of the boys is larger than Peeta, not in broadness or muscles but in height. This does not bode well for his leg.

They flank him quickly. Humans can be fast when they want something.

"What's up, Mellark?" the tall, blond one says while his lanky friend flicks his cigarette at Peeta's feet.

Peeta looks everywhere but at his opponents. Katniss has learned from the higher deities the importance of eye contact. She would lecture Peeta about it if she weren't busy crushing a rock to a pulp in her fist. Too many smells and tastes and sounds assault her at once. It's hard to sift through them.

Though, does she really have to? The situation is clear. These boys aren't Peeta's friends.

Now, it comes. The dry tang of egotism, which ends with the sour aftertaste of insecurity. All because Peeta is different. Possibly, they know he's also braver than them. He doesn't try to run.

She can hear bitterness simmering inside his blood, swirling around his heartbeat. A tender heartbeat that drives Katniss crazy during the split second she concentrates on it. The rock shatters in her hand and powders to the ground. She understands being different.

She doesn't, however, understand what made her crush the rock. Nor why she is tempted to do the same to these boys' heads.

_They will not touch him._

But yes, they will if they want. She can't stop them. It's against the rules to interfere with mortal dealings unless it has to do with her matchmaking power. This is Anger's jurisdiction, but he isn't here. He's off in some city known for weapons manufacturing, where he's trying to calm the more aggressive citizens of this country down.

"You know, I never thanked you for twisting my girl's ankle at the holiday festival last week," the blond one sneers. "Glimmer was pretty upset about it. She wanted to dance that night."

Peeta grimaces but saves his breath. Wise move, Katniss thinks. It's better not to contradict this boy. It would only make him angrier, and it would not change a thing.

She hates being useless, wants to at least coach Peeta, but even that is an immortal crime. She could be punished if she jumps in. But never in her existence has she wanted to more.

"You heard me, cripple?" the blond says, enunciating the last word by shoving Peeta. "You need to watch where you're _going_." Shove. "Were you trying to get her _attention_?" Shove. "You want my _girl_?" Shove.

"Like you have a chance. What a waste. Your old lady's right—"

He grunts as Peeta shoves back with enough force to plow him into his friend. They stumble, but Peeta isn't fast enough to dodge the blond one's answering blow. It cracks into the side of Peeta's face, landing right where the bruise taints his beautiful skin.

Katniss seethes.

Peeta manages to duck the next punch and backhand his opponent, busting the guy's lip. But the lanky one takes Peeta down, swiping at his bad leg.

Katniss glares at her boots. She cannot. She _cannot_.

The blond one kicks Peeta in the stomach, making him keel over and cough into the snow. Katniss is on them before she knows what she's doing.

Even if they could see her, she would be too fast to spot. It's as if a tornado has splintered the boys away from Peeta. Her fist flips the blond one sideways, and he goes spinning into the snow. She wheels and stabs her elbow into the lanky one's ribcage. As he bows over, she lashes at the backs of his knees, sending him on top of his friend.

She falls into a crouch, blocking the boys from Peeta as they pipe out a bunch of "What the fuck"s and hobble away. The blond spits the word "freak" at Peeta before they're out of sight. She whips her head over her shoulder to see if he's alright.

Peeta is on his back, braced up on his forearms, gaping at Katniss in disbelief. Or revulsion. She is not sure. They stare at each other, frost pumping from their mouths as the winter atmosphere returns to its normal silent self. Despite how he's looking at her, she reminds herself that she is not a monster.

She leaps up and and runs. Her heels kick up snow as she tunnels through the forest and scrambles up a random tree near an arched bridge, which curves over a frozen stream. Perched and shielded, she counts to ten. He is there by the time she finishes. His breathing sounds as though his mouth had been plugged for centuries until now. His chest is expanding and collapsing in a way that makes her want to pull her hair out.

She never leaves footprints, and this isn't her usual spot, the spot where they first met. So how had he known where she'd be? Did she...did she purposefully slow down for him?

Katniss growls because yes, she did. Part of her had wanted him to catch up. Such confusing behavior!

Peeta halts at the threshold of the bridge and tips his head back like a little boy, blue eyes tracing the branches for a sign of her. Like this, he looks blind.

"Why do you keep pulling this crap?" he shouts up to her. "Taking off on me."

She bites her lip. What does he want?

He is quiet for a long time. She is aggravated that she can't translate the silence and grasp what he's thinking. Her sensory power is one thing, but she isn't a mind reader. Dammit.

"Whatever," he says, turning away to leave. "Thanks for the help, but I didn't need it."

She stops him mid-limp. "Yes, you fool. You did!"

He wheels around, raising a knowing eyebrow. "She speaks."

Katniss realizes he bated her on purpose. Amusing for a mortal.

She fights to mask her grin. "He tricks."

"_He_ does," Peeta answers, the side of his mouth quirking.

She should have seen his little ploy coming. He'd pushed her buttons. She fears him having this sort of talent, this sort of effect on her. She can't think clearly in his presence.

"_He_ also has questions," Peeta says. "Lots of them."

"_She_ isn't going to answer."

Her eyes widen when she sees the snowball. He bounces it in his hands. "I can hear the direction of your voice. I have a strong arm and—"

He sucks in a breath when she lands in front of him, the short expanse of the bridge separating them. Snowflakes gather in their hair. They study one another from opposite ends of the arch. He drops the snowball.

"Why are you dressed like that?" he asks.

"Like what?"

"Like a sex goddess."

For the first time, she is grateful for the wanton image humans have of her myth, and she wants to embody it for him. Wants to live up to her name. So she lets the coat he gave her fly open and flap in the breeze, revealing her tiny dress. She murmurs, "Maybe I am one."

Peeta gazes away. His frown is too cute. "Maybe you're trying too hard."

"Maybe you're a challenge."

He directs a tight, sidelong glance at her that seems to say, _You have no idea how difficult I can be_.

The petulant, entitled side of her begins to pout. She asks, "Did you hurt that girl on purpose? The blond one's girlfriend?"

He rolls his eyes. "He was play-chasing her at the festival. She ran into me. My bad leg got in the way."

"Do you like her?"

"Are you serious?"

His question is loaded with incredulity. His crushes aren't important at the moment. He just saw her unleash on two boys with inhuman speed, and he doesn't know her, and she still hasn't told him anything about herself. He reminds her that she's missing the point. Yes, indeed. But she doesn't have to explain herself to a mortal.

He crosses the bridge, approaching her slowly and then stopping at the halfway point. He scrutinizes her from head to toe. It makes no sense at all that she doesn't know what to do with herself. Deities don't have this problem. Of course, they aren't usually facing off with humans, nor being judged by them.

Katniss does her best to look down on him.

"It was like they couldn't see you. You moved so fast," he says. "You're not...real. Are you."

A statement. Not a question.

Her body slumps. She shouldn't even be entertaining this boy. She broke a rule by protecting him. She's rascally, but she's never pushed the boundaries of appropriate goddess behavior this much before, not to the point where it got her into serious trouble. She should leave. She should not be moving toward him.

They're so different, the real and the not real, yet are both outcasts in their own worlds. But here, in this forest, in this moment, this fact seems trivial.

Meeting him at the halfway point, she raises her hand, palm up. An invitation.

Without hesitation, he lifts his own palm, then gasps when he attempts to press it against her and his hand slips through. "But you grabbed me yesterday. And when you helped me just now..."

She swallows. "I can choose who to touch and when. Or I can choose not to touch at all. Believe me, it's safer this way. So no, I'm not real. Not like you."

They stay like this, hands floating against one another. He curls his finger through her foggy palm. The expression of wonder on his pale face melts her. Katniss attempts to read into him, but she is suddenly blocked from his sensory capacity. When had this started?

The best she can do to unearth his reaction to her is guess...guess? What goddess is forced to guess such things?

Peeta of the wintry blue eyes doesn't seem enticed by or attracted to her. He doesn't like her _like that_, she realizes. He is merely in awe.

For once, she wishes she were as skilled as Venus. She would have no trouble bewitching him.

Against her will, she opens her mouth. "Thank you for the drawing." In answer to the question he'd written on the picture, she says, "My name is Katniss."

His lips twitch. A smile tries to break free. She holds her breath, waiting for it.

Something beeps into the space between them, the sound feeble yet clear enough to steal his attention. The foul noise comes from his wrist. A watch.

He glances at the time and groans. "My mother times my deliveries. Will you be..."

Though it's clear he's already figured out she lives in the forest, she shouldn't encourage him. She's in enough of a tangle.

"You can't come back here. I mean, to find me. It's dangerous," she says. "Pretend you never saw me."

Peeta doesn't care for that response. He looks disheartened. It's an understandable reaction, Katniss thinks. To encounter a magical being and then to lose that connection so soon.

He nips his chin at her. "Keep the coat."

She hadn't planned to give it back. It's in her nature to be selfish. But...

"I don't need it," she says.

"Keep it. It suits you," he insists. "I like seeing you wear it."

One more long, unreadable look at her. And then he trumps back through the woods.

She pursues him as if it's the polite thing to do. Or maybe the greedy thing. At one point, he twists his head over his shoulder, and she jumps out of sight. He keeps going. So does she.

He turns again. She ducks once more, then catches the grin on his profile as he continues on. He knows that she knows that he knows.

She theorizes: If they could be friends, they would spend most of their time pulling each other in circles, with actions as well as words.

Katniss stops at the fence and watches him cross into town. She runs a hand over his coat and smiles. Then frowns.

A girl bounces down the street like a ball and ambushes him. She wears a fur-lined jacket and has honey blond hair and the kind of face that inspires fantasies. Her berry scent reveals a tendency to flirt.

"Peeta," she breathes, touching his shoulder, which seems to shock him. "I just heard what Cato did. I'm so sorry about that."

This must be Glimmer, the girlfriend Peeta was attacked over. Evidently, he isn't used to talking with her. "I..."

"My ankle wasn't that bad."

"I..."

"It's just Cato's been moody lately. God, your face." She runs her fingers over his bruise. He is stupefied.

Katniss can taste the stickiness of the girl's vanity, accompanied by the fresh taste of concern. Glimmer is truly sorry for what happened. She cares.

An emotional landslide pours through Katniss. She fumes. Then whimpers when she sees it. The glow. The sign. She remembers Peeta's watch. It is exactly a full day since her last match.

Peeta and this girl. They radiate. The Heavens' next choice. Her next job.

"No," Katniss whispers.


	4. Chapter 4

**Anger: Gale  
Bravery: Finnick  
Honesty: Rue  
Sorrow: Johanna**

* * *

She cannot find a comfortable position on the branch. Much less a dry spot. The bark is damp from the snow, and the wintry boy's coat is in danger of being soiled. Instead of going back to her usual perch, she has bound herself to the tree by the bridge where they spoke an hour ago.

Katniss had thought it would be a good place to sulk. She humphs to herself.

"Why do you insist on trees instead of that hideout of yours?" a male voice drawls.

She tenses. Of course they'd show up now. Nothing better than glorifying in another hunter's misfortune.

Surrounding her suddenly are four other deities. In the tree across from her, Honesty swings upside down, her dark skin blending with the branches. She is the only one Katniss can tolerate.

Directly above Honesty is Sorrow, a female with freckles and a set of permanently pursed lips. She's resting on her stomach and twirling a lock of short hair around her finger.

In the tree to Katniss's left, standing upright and drumming his fingers against the wood, is Anger. His short fuse is not what bothers her most. It's the olive skin and grey eyes that have always rubbed her the wrong way, because those traits match her own. As if the emotions of Anger and Love are synonymous**.**

Judging from her current state, the very thought of pairing Peeta with that big-titted blond, this fact seems truer. Because she's furious.

_Weak, weak, stupid, stupid girl. _

_Stop. It. Now._

_Not in front of them._

"If I'm not mistaken, you're not a squirrel," the same voice continues.

Katniss glances to the right, where Bravery is sitting on a parallel bough. He rests his back casually against the trunk, one leg bent, his wrist balanced roguishly on his knee. His copper hair pops out in the white world. He is very popular with female deities, but no matter how many times he's tried to seduce Katniss, it has never worked.

They should really switch places. He is a god-whore, after all. And she'd rather regulate bravery than kissing.

"Good grief, you have a perfectly fine home not a mile from here, furnished to your tastes by The Heavens, but you prefer this." He waves his hand at the tree in disapproval.

Bravery is right. There is a glass cottage down by the lake. It's tailored to suit her, decorated with all her favorite things. Fluffy bedding in a soft, honeydew color. Vases full of dried flowers. A collection of bows and arrows mounted on a wall. A huge, green-tiled hearth. Books of love poetry, romance, and erotica that she uses as study material. Every hunter gets their own space, but she doesn't spend much time in hers.

"I like being in the air more than on the ground," she answers.

Bravery nods. If there's anything a deity understands, it's the desire to remain above mortals. In a literal as well as figurative manner.

She knows they haven't gathered here for some humorous powwow, to poke fun at her and watch her squirm. Not today. They reserve their teasing for occasions like Midsummer's night, when they all get to leave their posts and return to the sky. Which isn't really the sky so much as a dimension where The Heavens are located, which is more like a meadow.

There is only one reason that four hunters would abandon their assigned territories at once: to warn her.

"What have I done now?" she asks.

Honesty smirks. "Really, Love? Really?"

Katniss flushes and crosses her arms. Yes, feigning ignorance is an idiotic idea with a truth huntress swinging a few feet from her.

"Can we speed this up?" Sorrow grunts, rubbing her temples. "I have people ready to slit their wrists in my sector, and I need to keep it from happening."

Anger can always be counted on to get to the point. "What the Hades is wrong with you?" he grates at Katniss. "Beating those humans to a pulp. It's my job to take care of that stuff."

"Cut the girl some slack," Bravery says. "This mountain hamlet isn't your sector, and even if she's not allowed to fight, she was under sexual duress when it happened. That limping boy has punched the prude out of her. She's been a walking puddle since she first saw him."

Honesty giggles.

Katniss twists away.

"It is unfathomable how you can be the huntress of love and matchmaking and _not_ be officially plucked by now," Bravery says mournfully. "Look at you. You're red as a beet. And still a virgin."

This has been an ongoing point of contention since the beginning. Katniss cannot explain it herself, nor why Venus and her overseers haven't stripped her of her title at this point. She may do her job well, but the increasing monotony has taken its toll on her, and she openly gripes about it, hissing and complaining, making her feelings thoroughly known. Not to mention her tendency to play with mortals, doing so without finesse or regal stature. And then there's her celibacy.**  
**

"You have the knowledge, that is certain, but experience is a right of passage. In order to assign lust, you have to consummate with your duty, fully embody it. Do you intend to disregard that small step for much longer?" he asks.

She has been taught the mechanics of love and bodily hunger, has indulged in arousal and fulfillment, but only ever on her own. She has never engaged in them with another being. Meaningless sex in The Heavens has always seemed so...empty to her. Venus has let Katniss's chaste status slide over the centuries, but it is only a matter of time before patience from above wanes.

"Love, you have a bigger problem than procrastination," Honesty cautions. "Everyone knows the boy can see you. This hasn't happened in ages. Strike him and his mate down, bring them together, and everything will be back to normal. In these rare cases, our weapons are stronger than our natural abilities. The arrow will blind him. He won't be able to see you after that. He'll forget you."

"And if I don't listen?" Katniss counters.

Bravery sighs. "You must really want to get him naked."

"I didn't say that," she mutters, turning a dozen different shades of red.

"You didn't have to. Ah, the irony."

She knows better than to rage and deny. He wouldn't believe her anyway, and it would make her look guiltier.

He's right, though. It _is_ ironic. After too many lifetimes, finally someone lights the flame The Heavens have been hoping to see in her, to make her the supple goddess she's supposed to be. And that one person happens to be a human. A human so pure he can see deities, which makes him a threat. A human whose heart she now has to steer toward someone else.

"What happens if I don't do it?" Katniss repeats before she can stop herself.

"You tread a thin line even voicing that question," Anger says, still drumming his fingers.

Katniss wishes he would stop doing that. It's annoying.

"Need we remind you of the last time The Heavens had to set you straight?" he remarks.

They'd threatened to turn her into a chubby cherub for real. No, she didn't need reminding of that.

"If you don't, they'll target him and punish you," Honesty answers. She bites her lip as though wanting to say more.

"Do what you must, but be careful with him," Bravery says. "You're already subject to his influence. Limp Boy is—"

"Don't call him that," Katniss snaps.

"Wow," Sorrow says. "You sound like a human. It's pathetic. It's depressing. And I know pathetic and depressing."

"Your blue-eyed mortal is an assignment," Bravery says. "This is a solid chance to prove yourself to The Heavens. You want this boy, which has reassured Venus and everyone else that you're willing to mate with someone other than yourself. So there's hope for you. Yet you must resist him. They want you deflowered, but more than that they want your loyalty and discipline. Show them you can still do your job, especially when it's this vital. And then they won't whip you, strip you of all you've ever known, and damn you to an eternity of suffering."

_I feel so much better._

"That's why they haven't hurt him yet, isn't it?" Katniss asks. "Because he's just become a final test for me. That's why he's my next match."

Bravery inclines his head. "If you want to see it that way."

"I _do_ see it that way."

"You've always been a deity with nerve," Anger says without admiration.

A test. It is always the last straw before a deity is stripped of their title.

Katniss is thoroughly confused. Does she want to prove herself just to keep a power she hasn't wanted for ages? Her goddess rank is that of a huntress, not very prominent in the chain of command, yet not without its benefits. She gets to live forever. No illness, no injury. She's not subject to the elements. She has inhuman strength. But as a huntress, she's also a laborer. She does the dirty work. It's all she knows. What else would she do?

Not to mention the consequences if she stepped out of line. Her power weakened. Her immunity to pain gone. Followed by torture. Banishment. Estrangement from her peers, even more so than she already feels. No returning to The Heavens. Life in an abyss. The possibilities are endless. It would be worse than an eternity of doing what she's always done.

But would it be worse than seeing Peeta give his heart to that girl? And would that be worse than seeing him hurt?

Bravery pats her on the knee and leaves, jumping to the forest floor and disappearing quietly into the woods. Sorrow follows without hesitation. Anger storms off behind them. Honesty drops from her branch and crawls over to Katniss, watching her.

Katniss has never resented the order of things more than on this day. "If we're greater than mortals, why do we spend our existence dealing with them?"

Honesty grins. "Don't waste your breath rehashing what you already know the answer to."

Right. Just because they're deities, it doesn't mean they're lazy. The Heavens have a responsibility to the lower beings. To fix what is broken in their fragile world.

"There is a way to free yourself."

The ring of Honesty's words makes Katniss's head jolt up.

"It has to do with why this boy threatens us," she says. "Beyond the mere knowledge of our existence, I mean. It's about his ability to reduce us through sentimentality, attachment, whatnot, all because he can see us. I believe that's what's happening to you. You've lost your sensory connection to him, right? Eventually, you'd lose that completely, with everyone."

Katniss wrinkles her nose. Peeta is more troublesome than she realized.

"Anyway, he may be able to weaken you, but he can also love you. And if any pure mortal falls in love with a deity, that deity is given a new kind of power: choice. You can choose to be like him, if you want. You will lose your immortality, but it will be your own doing."

So the irony multiplies. The one who can wreck her is the one who can free her.

"Why him?" Katniss asks. "Why task me with a boy who can change me?"

It's like handing her the opportunity...or the danger.**  
**

"Such a bond has only happened a handful of times in our history. It's an unlikelihood in their eyes. It's more of a risk to you than them. They can destroy him, but right now, they're using him as a pawn," Honesty answers. "This is about your strength of will. Your utmost obedience, like Bravery said. They want to see what you would do in spite of being tempted by lust. There couldn't be a _better_ way to test you."

"How do you know this?" Katniss asks.

"It's not secret. You merely have to pay attention," Honesty answers, tugging at Katniss's braid. "I'm telling you because you're not like the rest of us. You never have been. I may tease you, but I do like you. Who wouldn't like the huntress of Love? Other than Anger?"

This makes Katniss chuckle in spite of herself.

"Be cautious in your decision. Now, you know what's possible," the girl says.

Katniss stares at her feet. There's still no way out. She either follows orders and lives with an injured heart. Or she disobeys, tries to be with Peeta, and risks failure, in turn risking both their lives. Either way, he is not given a choice. As it is, he doesn't like her in any romantic way.

What has come over her? She isn't even sure how she truly feels about him, so how can she know if it would be worth it? She's met him only twice. With very few words.

Then she thinks of how he braved himself against those boys although he had no chance to win that fight. How he braved himself against _her_ when he knew she was different, possibly dangerous. How he didn't recoil from her invisible palm. How he offered her his coat. How he drew her.

_But who is this girl?_

The question hadn't been sarcastic. It had been genuine. He wanted to know. He cared.

And now, she wants to give him a thousand answers, even though she doesn't have a clue what those answers would be. She merely wants the excuse to talk to him.

But this isn't about what she wants. No matter how those boys, or his mother, have made him suffer in the past, their treatment cannot compare to what would happen if Katniss refused orders. She has to do what's expected of her. Sooner rather than later. No playing. No games. Get it over with before she withers.**  
**

When she pairs Peeta with Glimmer, that violent boyfriend of hers—Cato is his name—will nevertheless be a problem. Katniss decides to do what she can about that, but she will do it properly. She can't afford to nettle her makers.

Before Honesty leaves, Katniss asks, "Will you do me a favor?"

Honesty waits. Always welcoming. Always frank. Always respected by her peers. Even Anger.

"Can you get Anger to do something before he leaves? Don't tell him I asked."

Honesty chuckles. "That's a little hard for me. You know, seeing as I'm—"

"Okay. Okay. Just appeal to his ego, his sense of duty. He'll go for it if it comes from you."

"Go for what?"

Katniss grins. "I need him to take care of some people for me."

Might as well deal with Peeta's unfortunate mother, too.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you again to my beta, DustWriter. Hope you all like this one!  
**

* * *

She can't stop thinking about him. His voice. His shoulders. His bruise. His eyes. His colorless lips.

She can't stop. It's irritating. This human is irritating.

Katniss tosses and turns—as best as anyone can toss and turn on a branch. The boy with the wintry eyes is not making her job easy. Three times—_three_—she's tried to push him and Glimmer together. To no avail.

In Greasy Sae's diner, where Peeta had been delivering a batch of pastries, he and Glimmer had passed one another at the cash register. Katniss had shot the girl's purse right out of her hand. It fell to the ground and the contents spilled.

Peeta had hobbled down to get it for her. Good boy. Gallantry. But how could Katniss have known a tampon would be in that purse?

Glimmer had squealed for him to stop. She'd gathered her stuff in a hurry and took off as if she never wanted to face him again.

The next two times had been just as disastrous. Katniss had shot the roof of the town square gazebo and caused an avalanche of snow over Glimmer's head. Peeta had been standing nearby. He tried to knock her out of the way. Good boy. Heroism.

Katniss had forgotten he had a limp and wasn't that fast. He and Glimmer both got pummeled with snow.

The third time, she shot Peeta's legs and compelled him to Glimmer's front door to drop off bread her family had not ordered. They'd stood there awkwardly at the threshold.

Katniss bit her lip, feeling guilty. Feeling something else when he blushed.

Glimmer turned the loaf in her hands. "Okay, well..."

Cato had materialized behind her. Peeta's reaction was priceless when Cato played all nice with him, even thanking him for the bread on his girlfriend's behalf and inviting Peeta inside. Honesty and Anger had pulled through.

Unfortunately, Glimmer had glanced at her boyfriend with surprise and warmth. Dammit. It had been a bad idea to tame his anger, after all.

Peeta declined the invite and went home, looking confused.

Katniss had flung her bow against a lamppost and stomped her feet.

Now, resting on her branch, she is on the verge of a goddess fit. If Peeta weren't able to see her, this would be a lot simpler. She would be able to manipulate these encounters up close.

But unlike every pairing she's ever done, this time she has to keep herself hidden from Peeta's view. It's a challenge. Matchmaking takes tact. Even though she needs to complete this task as swiftly as possible, she can't just puncture the intended lovers in the heart without nudging them in the right direction first. Not unless she wants them overwhelmed, clumsily in lust, and freaked about how they got to that point. Her targets always need to know each other beforehand, to reach a mutual state of high regard. Otherwise, their future together becomes fraught with turmoil and tears and an overabundance of shouting matches. Therein lies the artistry of her job.

Her mood is manifest. She is cranky. She has lost her Christmas ornament, probably from the most recent snowfall. She thinks back to the Saes and their family time by the tree and how intently she'd watched them. Nothing is making sense these days.

Katniss thinks maybe it would be better if she retreats to her cottage, further away from the town, where she can process her situation. Put extra distance between her body and Peeta's. Because although he and Glimmer aren't making progress, it's obvious he thinks the girl is pretty. Whereas he hadn't looked at Katniss with anything more than wonder. Curiosity.

Yes, the cottage is the perfect change of atmosphere to help steel herself. Rather than traverse the forest path, Katniss jumps from one branch to the next. She takes her time, moving through the woods slower than usual, inhaling pine and tasting snowflakes on her tongue as they begin to drop from the sky. She feels as if there's another reason she's moving at a slow pace, but she can't decipher it.

Arriving at the glass house, she lights a fire and admires her collection of bows. She traces the dried flowers by her bed. She pulls the picture he drew from her coat pocket and slips it beneath her pillow. She flops onto the downy green blankets with a grunt. She stares at the ceiling forever.

She pictures Glimmer locked in an embrace with Peeta. She hates the universe.

Katniss mutters, "How can she be Peeta's type?"

"You might have to ask Peeta that."

She leaps off the bed. He is standing in the doorway, staring at her with those blue eyes.

Again, her senses have failed to detect him. He truly is getting to her.**  
**

He can't be wholly pure. No one is. She refuses to believe it. Not when his normally pale face is stained pink, eyes zooming in on the sheer dress. She buttons her coat.

The Heavens adore ambiguity. They don't translate "pure" the same way humans do. The word must mean something else in regard to this boy. Not really about innocence so much as worthiness or something to that effect. Only the higher order of gods and goddesses know for sure.

"How did you find me?" she growls.

"I followed you," he says without remorse. He looks winded from having to limp through the snow.

He glances around. She feels self-conscious. No other soul has ever set foot in the cottage before. No human soul has ever been able to see it.

She swipes her bow off the floor and aims an arrow at him. "I told you to stay away from me."

He looks angry all of a sudden. He steps forward, ignoring the weapon pointed at him. "What did you do to Cato?"

Katniss lowers her weapon.

"He's been acting like my best friend. My mother has been nice to me. What did you do?"

"Nothing," she fibs.

"Uh-huh." He chews on the side of his magnificent lower lip. "Right."

She is transfixed by his mouth and tallies all the possible ways she might explore it. Taste and texture and movement. She makes no effort to disguise her preoccupation with him. In fact, she allows the evidence to bloom on her face.

Peeta's chest hitches. Taken off guard, he soaks up her expression, then stops just as quickly as he began.

"Tell me what you did to them!" he shouts. "What are you?"

The question hurts more than it should.

"I'm not a freak," she says, humiliated by the way her voice cracks.

Those blue depths flicker, then soften.

"I'm not a demon."

He nods. "And even if you were, I'd probably still like you."

She doesn't need to read this boy to know how hard this is for him to say. How guarded he is. She thinks of his mother, the person he should trust the most. The bruise is now a yellow color.

He fights with his next words. "I still would have given you my coat, too."

"Why did you?"

"Because I'm an idiot."

Her lids drop closed. She doesn't have the strength to make him leave.

She tells him what she is. The mythology, the world's version, the real version, the accuracies and inaccuracies. The quicker he understands, the quicker he'll want to make a run for it.

Except he doesn't. He just stares into space, expressionless. The fire from the hearth pops and fizzes. She thinks about offering him tea because his fingers are blue. As blue as the rest of him.

He asks, "Do you have parents?"

"No. Books say otherwise, but really we're...created. By our makers. The higher god or goddess who oversees us. For me, that's Venus."

"How are you created?"

Katniss levels him with a crooked grin. "The same way humans create life."

Peeta's throat pumps.

She continues. "Our relationships aren't what people think or read. We could correct it, but we don't. The less people know about us, the more wrong they are, the better. Anyway, we view things differently from humans. There are no families. Venus was the vessel that birthed me. She's not my mother in the way you think of one."

He looks away, brows furrowing, thinking who knows what. Katniss feels so powerless that her mouth grows parched. Even though she wants him to get out, she has the strange urge to be a good hostess and tempt him to stay forever.

"Am I going crazy?" he asks.

"If you think so, it's okay," she says. "It will pass."

"If I am, I guess I don't mind." His irises fasten onto her. "I would never call someone a freak."

It's like wild horses are galloping through her. Is this what her arrow does to people?

_Do what you must, but be careful with him._

If she knows him better, it might make her job of matching him easier and faster but more perilous. Yes, she has to be cautious.

"I have tea," she says.

They settle in front of the fire. Katniss is aware of the distance between them, even though they can't touch. She has put up that wall again. Just in case.

"How is it so warm in here?" he muses, studying the glass walls that look out onto the lake. It's snowing, but in here he's warm. His nails are losing that blue tint.

The sight makes her happy, makes her sad, makes her angry. She hadn't known it was truly warm in here. Only around him does she have an inkling of what temperature feels like. She could tell him the cottage was created by The Heavens. That it's able to withstand the harshest winter. The worst hurricane. But she doesn't feel like it.

Instead of waiting for an answer, he notes the bed. "Do you sleep?"

"Yes."

"Do you eat?"

"Only fruit." She points to a bowl on a table, filled with apples, persimmons, and tangerines.

Peeta looks unsettled. "You can live off that? But you said you're a huntress."

"Of people, not animals. We don't need the same nourishment as you. Our relationship to fruit is more potent than yours. It satiates us to a greater degree."

"Do you get sick?"

"No."

"Wounded?"

"No."

"Do you have friends?"

Katniss smirks. "I wouldn't call them that. Allies. Peers. Fellow gods or hunters. Take your pick."

"You're not lonely?"

She thrusts her braid over her shoulder and notices how his eyes follow the movement. She clears her throat and lies. "Loneliness is a romantic notion conceived by humans. Immortals don't get lonely."

He frowns. "Who takes care of you?"

She blinks. "I don't understand."

Even when he repeats himself, she's confounded. "I'm a goddess," she says simply.

Peeta absorbs that answer, then shakes it off. He lifts the tea mug to his mouth and drinks. The way his forehead wrinkles brings out the naughty in her.

"What's in this?" he asks.

"Spring," she says, keeping a straight face.

"Spring."

"Yes. The ingredients. Dandelions. A bit of the sun's rays. The afterglow of sex—"

He lurches forward and spits out the tea.

Katniss rolls over laughing. His eyes get huge, then narrow.

"Cranberries," she chuckles. "Only cranberries."

After a moment of hesitation, he breaks down and joins her laughter. His smile cuts her into a million pieces, but she can't look away. He must notice the depth of her gaze. A pink tongue darts out between the slit in his mouth and slides across his bottom lip. They both sit up straighter.

He squeezes his mug. "So what do you do out here besides hunt and climb trees and flash people?"

"It's a forest. It's winter. What else is there to do?"

"Besides flash people? Don't know." He motions at the glass wall overlooking the lake. "Get some ice skates?"

Katniss rolls her eyes and glances toward the fire. "That's a human past time."

"Meaning you don't know how."

Her head snaps in his direction. He stares back at her.

"I could teach you," he offers.

Something in his expression dares her to respond in a certain way. She can't say what he's expecting, but it isn't for her to run her hand through his knee. A demonstration to back up her answer. "It wouldn't work. We'd have to touch."

He gazes at his leg for so long she wonders if he'd heard her. But then he says, so quietly, "I want to touch you."

Her body feels as if it's sprinting, although she keeps absolutely still. It's all she can do not to jump on him and tear his clothes off. This is precarious on all fronts.

"We can't," she murmurs.

"I want to touch you anyway," he says, stubborn. "I want you to be real. I want to know what you feel like."

His eyes lift to meet hers, the subtext clear. Down below, she's flapping like a butterfly, she's pulsating, she's opening without him even moving. She shifts on the rug and bites her lip to contain her sigh.

He maintains eye contact, like he knows what's happening inside her, and why, and what she longs for him to do about it. "I want my fingers on you."

She can't resist. "Where?"

"Wherever you ask me to put them."

"But if you had a choice?"

"Your mouth first," he says slowly. "It's so lush. The first thing I'd want to do is shut you up."

This is the sexiest conversation she's ever had. Not that she has much to compare it to.

"And then?" she dares ask.

"Your shoulders. I'd pull the straps of your dress to the side."

Her fingers claw at the rug. Moisture is beginning to flow at an alarming rate.

Flames peak out of the hearth and lick the air. Neither of them moves, but she feels them both imagining. And somehow, their stillness makes it all the more enticing.

"How have I been assigned to this town for years and never seen you?" she muses.

Peeta runs his own finger along the rug, stroking it. "I've always tried hard to make myself invisible. I envy you your power."

"Don't," she says firmly. "Just keep touching me with your words."

"I don't know where this is coming from?"

"I do," Katniss admits. It's coming from a very simple place. Unfortunately, humans tend to make it seem more complicated than it really is. He's a boy who likes what he sees, and she's otherworldly, and they're alone. And she understands very well the way he's behaving. It's how her matches always act.

She has never felt mutual desire before. She likes it. It scares her because she knows better, because this is wrong, and it's making her vulnerable. She shouldn't be asking for more.

"We have to stop," she says.

"I don't want to," he says.

"Then do it for me."

He wavers, then nods. His voice cools down. "How did you become Cupid?" he asks, finishing the tea.

Back to a safer zone. She's disappointed. She's relieved.

"We are born and then assigned a rank. We give off...a sense. It tells our makers what purpose we'd best serve. When Venus had me, the last huntress of matchmaking had just been stripped of that duty for displeasing The Heavens. They saw the same promise in me, and the timing was right. So I became her next little trooper of Love. I answer to her."

Aside from that intense moment before, she's surprised how comfortable she feels around him, how easily it is to let him steer the conversation. She makes the excuse that she's doing her job, opening up so that he will, too. So that she can glean how better to bring him and Glimmer closer. Before she shoots them.

"There are more like you?" he asks.

"Many. We represent virtues and emotions. But we each have a different task, which is why love is not regulated everywhere. I can only be in one place at one time."

Peeta leans back. His whole demeanor changes. His stare is hostile. "So you're telling me you control what people feel?"

She opens her mouth but nothing comes out.

"That's what you did to Cato and my mother? You brainwashed them?"

She hadn't seen this coming.

"I didn't," she scoffs. "Anger did that."

"Why?"

_Because I asked him to._

He glowers at her. "When I got here, you were talking to yourself. You said_ she's_ not my type. Who's _she_?" His eyes darken. "Am I one of your targets?"

"No," Katniss lies. "I was imagining who your type would be. That's all. I do that. It's in my nature."

Thankfully, Peeta's too riled up to give this more thought. "How can you do this to people? They aren't puppets to mess around with."

"It's always been like this," she argues, baffled.

"That doesn't justify it."

"It's the way of things."

"It's hijacking people's free will."

Katniss shoots to her knees. "You're a mortal. You're not meant to understand."

His tea mug goes flying and smashes against the wall. "I know the fucking difference between right and wrong." He staggers to his feet. "You're no different than my mother or Cato. You're just as cruel. Only no one can see you. How convenient."

She feels yet another odd sensation: unworthiness.

He heads to the door.

"Peeta," she calls, but when he turns to face her, she is at a loss. "I know...whatever happened to your leg...is because of her."

He makes a fist.

"I wanted to stop the bruises."

"Why would you do that?" His voice is laced with sarcasm as he mimics her words. "The deal with my mother is, it's always_ been like this_. It's the _way of things_."

He throws open the door and disappears into the forest.

The fire snaps at her from the hearth. Katniss stares at shattered fragments of the tea mug, not moving until it's almost midnight. Then she retrieves his drawing from beneath her pillow, tucks it into the pocket of her coat, grabs her bow and arrow just in case, and sets off into town.

At the main square's gazebo, amid the flickering holiday lights, Glimmer and Cato are cuddling and whispering. Katniss watches them. She's been tired of matchmaking for a long time, but only because it's a nuisance. She's never had a problem with it being fabricated or stealing the mortals' choices from them. She's never considered the right or wrong of it.

Her arms shake as she set an arrow. She takes too many deep breaths.

Once Glimmer and Peeta are together, where will he take her in the middle of the night? What will they do? How will Cato feel?

_If I don't do this, Peeta will die._

She kisses the arrow and shoots it into Glimmer's arms. The girl jerks, stills, then squirms out of her boyfriend's embrace as if he's said something wrong.

"What's up?" Cato asks.

"You're smothering me," she says.

Katniss hates herself. She leaves before she can hear any more. It's just a little fight. Just a little nudge. One step at a time. So that when Glimmer breaks up with Cato, he won't be too shocked.

Katniss continues to Peeta's house. She slips, invisible, through the locked door, appearing in the living room. The home smells of bread. There is a Christmas tree. It blinks at her like a warning sign. She steals an ornament that she suspects he hand-painted. A replacement for the one she lost.

Upstairs, she checks each bedroom. The family sleeps quietly. The mother takes up most of the mattress, pushing her husband to the edge. Katniss peers at the woman. Anger took care of her, but for an instant, Katniss still wishes she could punish her.

She finds Peeta's room last. He likes books and the color orange. He leaves the window open. He's tidy. An easel and a blank canvas stand in the corner.**  
**

He's sprawled across his bed, chest bare, a wall of muscle rising and falling. She hovers beside him, her heart picking up speed. Yes, it must be her heart. When he rolls to the side and smacks his lips, her throat tightens. Her hand steals up to caress him, but it passes through his body the way it would if she were dipping her fingers in water.

Beside his bed, ice melts in a glass, perspiration building across its outer walls. She slides an arrow from her pack, using it as a tool to touch him. When she inches the tip between the tie at the waistband of his pants, she is careful. Because he is precious. In one swift move, the blade cuts through the knot.

Peeta whimpers in his sleep. The sound filters through the air. She swallows deeply before continuing, maneuvering his pants down a fraction. Just enough to peak at the V of his hips. He rustles unconsciously against the mattress, as though offering himself to a female incubus.

But this one glance is the most she allows herself. Anything more would require waking him up.

She takes out the drawing he made her.

_My name is Peeta. _

_But who is this girl?_

Katniss borrows one of his pencils and writes her answer.

_I don't know anymore._

She removes her coat—really, _his_ coat—drapes it over a reading chair, and sets the drawing on top of the wool fabric. She tiptoes out the door, making sure not to look at him again.

It takes longer than it should to get back to the glass cottage. Her beautiful cage. She can't sleep, so she has a silent conversation with the ceiling.

By sunrise, she has fallen in love.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you to Ro Nordmann for making the lovely banners for Goddess and Legend. Urls are listed in the summaries. Check them out :)**

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Peeta does not return to her. She knows he hasn't forgiven her manipulation of his mother and Cato. He thinks so little of her now. Ironically, this brings him closer to Glimmer without Katniss having to lift a finger.

"You okay?" the girl asks while picking up an order at the bakery.

Katniss watches the exchange through a side window, still bothered that she has to sneak around undetected because he remains immune to her invisibility. He mutters that he's fine and hands Glimmer a paper bag. She loiters until he regards her quizzically.

"Cato's having a party," she says.

And so it goes.

That night, Katniss weaves through the dancing bodies at Cato's house, making sure to avoid Peeta's sight but keeping close enough to do her job. Her heart twists watching him wander from room to room, not talking to anyone, acting like he doesn't care that kids are eyeing him, possibly wondering why he's there.

She kisses her arrow and gives Cato a lust kick. From there, she follows the domino effect of her power. The tall, hulking blond is too eager and rough with Glimmer in his room. The girl breaks away from their make-out session. They surge into an argument, and she storms off in tears.

Peeta is outside on the back porch steps, drawing in his sketchbook when she stumbles out the door and plops down beside him, mascara running down her face.

"Stay," she says when he moves to get up and leave.

Katniss spies from the lawn, poking her head around the corner. She squeezes the banister when Peeta's leg brushes Glimmer's.

"He can be so great to me. And then such a jerk," she whimpers. "I don't know what's going on with him lately, you know? Or me. I feel so weird."

Peeta shifts. Hesitates. "Me, too."

"Really?"

It takes him forever, but eventually he reaches out and covers her hand with his own. Even while he's doing it, he seems preoccupied. Until Glimmer twists around to smile at him.

"You're sweet," she says.

He smiles back. It's a sad grin. But it's there. It's aimed at her.

Katniss's fingers dig into her palm. It takes her several attempts, bow lifting and dropping and lifting and dropping, before she has the stamina to do it. She targets Peeta's hand, intending to make him wipe the girl's tears.

But the sight of Glimmer snatching his sketchbook stays Katniss's hand. He twiddles his thumbs, like he wants to grab the book back, but he restrains himself.

Glimmer stops at a page. "Who is this girl? The one with the braid?"

Katniss's heart rate soars.

Peeta grabs the sketchbook. "No one."

"She looks like _everyone_ to me."

Katniss doesn't know what to make of this. He's been drawing her. A lot of her.

"You're mad at this girl," Glimmer says.

"How do you know that?" Peeta bites out.

"Because I'm just as mad at Cato."

There are some moments that don't require Katniss's intervention. Some moments when human nature works on its own. A boy who's emotionally curtained off because another girl has upset him is one of those moments. In Katniss's experience, it tends to heighten the boy's attractiveness to the opposite sex. Not to mention appeal to a girl's romantic side. Like now.

Glimmer sighs. "The harder it is to forgive him, the more it proves..."

"What?" Peeta asks, eyes skipping across the backyard.

"That he matters."

Katniss watches as his shoulders fall. She tastes the syrupy flavor of Glimmer's intent. The girl sniffles and kisses his cheek.

Katniss bounds down the side of the house and across the cold, stiff grass of the front lawn. Laughter erupts from different areas. She stops beside one group and pretends to be a part of real life, chuckles along with them although she has no idea what's so funny.

It's no use. They can't see her. She doesn't belong.

Peeta is with Glimmer.

She smacks a guy's beer out of his hand. Then pushes him into another girl, perfecting just the right pressure and steering him in just the right direction. Their lips crash together. They pull back, stuttering nonsense.

_I. You. Um. What. I. Uh. Hmm._

The group cracks up. That boy and girl are lucky she's not in a worse mood. If she wanted to, she could have them shedding their clothes right there. She could humiliate them with a flick of her wrist.

Arrow, actually.

She has entertained herself in such ways before.

Katniss sprints off before she's further tempted to take her spite out on these mortals and do something else mean. On her way home, she detours and steps through the wall of a clothing shop. Running her hands over a shelf of pajamas, she discovers a bundle of forest green silk. Flowy sleep pants and a long shirt. She takes the garments, along with a pair of panties, promising to leave a trade on the shopkeeper's doorstep later. Right now, she just needs something new.

She'd had no idea how much love hurts. She wants it to stop. When she gets back to the glass cottage, she tries everything. Burying herself in a pile of snow, remaining there for an hour. Pressing her face into her pillow and howling until her throat is raw. Kissing Bravery.

Yes. That, too.

She calls out him with her thoughts, and he's there, grinning, informing her that it's about time. She yanks off her dress. He's a good kisser. But he draws the line at being confused with someone else. Groaning, he rolls off Katniss before they've gotten far.

"My name's not Peeta," he says.

Katniss is ashamed.

Bravery throws on his shirt and holds up his palm. "No matter. Just get it done before you get in trouble. You're stalling. Everyone knows it."

She's aware of who _everyone_ is.

After he leaves, she puts on the silk pajamas. It's like wearing a waterfall. She is another girl. She is not Katniss. If she weren't stuck in this elegant glass cage, she could be a normal girl. The kind that is good enough, in every sense of the word, for the boy with the wintry eyes.

She climbs into bed and cradles the ornament she stole from Peeta's house. Thin brushstrokes of paint depict a dandelion breaking apart in the wind, its fragile little needles scattering across the surface as though traveling the globe. Escaping. Running away. Free.

She rolls it across her lips.

Now, she knows what heartbreak feels like.

kpkpkpkpkp

There's a pressure on her arm and a soft voice tickling her ears. She opens her eyes. Her vision shifts from blurry to lucid in a matter of seconds. She rolls over in her blanket.

And tumbles off the bed.

Swatting hair out of her face, she bounds to her feet. Peeta stands inches from her, cheeks bloodless from the glacial temperature outside, a hood covering his blond hair.

Outside, dark branches net around each other and quiver in the breeze. Gray blankets the sky, but she can tell that she's slept a long time. It's the day before Christmas Eve. It must be afternoon. How long has he been here?

His eyes take in the green silk pajamas, then he looks away, kicks at the carpet.

No _hello_ or _good morning_ or _sorry I startled you_. Instead, he says, "You were right about my leg."

Katniss pictures herself reaching out, swiping the bangs from his forehead. Beneath that unyielding expression lurks a fragile, broken one. She longs to coax it out of him, tell him he doesn't have to put up defenses with her. She longs for a lot of things she can't have.

But she can listen. So she does.

"I was a little kid when it happened," he says. "It was the first time my mother ever got mad. I was playing in the middle of the night because I didn't want to go to bed. I climbed onto the breakfast table in the kitchen. I was pretending I'd just conquered a mountain peak. I swung a rolling pin around like it was a weapon...like I was this warrior that just accomplished a great mission."

He shoves his hands in his pockets. "My mother has a tendency to overreact. She's a nervous person. She thought the noise was coming from an intruder. It was an accident. That first time."

Katniss imagines herself surging into the house, swiping that small, unsuspecting boy off the table and carrying him out of there before anything else can happen.

"Mom turned the corner of the kitchen and swung the bat before she even looked to see who it was," Peeta says. "It cracked against the side of my knee, knocked me off the table. I hit my head and blacked out, so I don't remember what happened next. After that, instead of being more protective or obsessed with hugging me like any normal, guilty mother, she just got angrier. Always yelling for me to stop looking at her like it was her fault." He shrugs. "I get angry, too. At her. A lot. Only I never take it out on her. Sometimes I break things."

Katniss recalls the snowball he'd flung at the bakery window. To this day, she's still surprised it hadn't shattered.

"But I don't hurt anyone," he finishes. "And I don't try to control people. Not her or Cato."

Katniss stares at her bare feet like a scolded child.

"Part of me doesn't regret it," she admits. "I hate that she hits you. But another part of me is sorry." She has never apologized to anyone before. "You're right. I had a choice with them. But...with everyone else, I have to do what I'm told. The Heavens aren't very forgiving. They can be harsh."

Peeta thinks about this.

"My world has consequences," she stresses.

Yet, she knows now. What The Heavens do, dominating people's emotions and virtues, is wrong. Even if they presume to know better. She would refuse this assignment if Peeta's life weren't at stake. But she will refuse the next one. She would rather suffer than do this anymore.

"I found this in my room." He raises his arm. The coat is draped over it. "And this." He pulls out the drawing and sets it carefully on the table by her bed. Next to the ornament she'd taken from his house.

When he notices it, Peeta starts. At one time, Katniss wouldn't have batted an eyelash over being caught with something of his. She doesn't feel that way anymore. She's embarrassed. She's tempted to cover her face.

"I painted this when I was ten," he says. "Painting always helps."

"Peeta…" She doesn't know how to explain her thievery.

At the sound of his name, he looks up. "Why were you there?"

She motions to the drawing. "To answer your question."

"It was a sad answer."

"The truth can be very sad."

He turns away, then wheels back around, like he doesn't know what to do with himself.

"I don't know what's real and not real," he lashes out. "This glass house. You. Cato. My mother. I just told you I would never control people the way you do, but I'm a fucking hypocrite. I am. Yesterday during work, she tucked in my shirt and smiled at me. I kept waiting for her to detonate and go back to her old self, but she didn't. It was like she cared." And here, his face melts into something resembling shame. "It's not really her. But I was…I realized I was glad. I was glad it wasn't really her. I was glad you did whatever you did. I shouldn't be."

Goddesses don't cry. It's not that they can't. They just don't. It's weak. But Katniss is close. Very close.

"I don't know if I'm real or not," she confesses, no longer afraid of what he'll think of her, how he'll see her. "I've always been somewhere between. I hate it, too." She rubs her throat, but her voice breaks anyway.

Peeta calms down. "I dreamed about you," he announces.

Katniss feels a thousand things at once. She stays quiet, because by now she has figured a few things out about this boy. He is more comfortable speaking when he knows he won't be interrupted. Beyond that bitterness and confusion, there is a tender person who's rarely ever felt safe. Much less understood.

"The night I left you, I dreamed you came into my room while I was asleep. Your hand went through my chest. Then you...your arrow...you used the arrow to..."

Ah, yes. The arrow's tip. The waistband of his pants. The torn knot.

"That was me," she confirms softly.

"So you really were in my room."

"Did you like the dream?"

"Every bit of it," he says, his voice beginning to simmer.

"Nothing else happened."

"Why not?"

She likes when they talk like this. It has nearly the same effect as when she'd been able to taste, hear, smell his emotions, back when she first met him. In this instant, her bodily responses are highly potent. Her skin crackles. A fluid as thick and sweet as honey pours through her mouth.

"I would have had to wake you up for what I had in mind," she answers.

"Why didn't you?"

"You were mad at me."

"Is it true that being mad at someone can work like an aphrodisiac?"

"Stop," she warns.

As much as she's enjoying this, she cannot get used to it. After last night, he and Glimmer are ready to be matched. There is no need to spend time with him.

He steps further into the room. "If you ever allowed us to touch, the last thing you would do is ask me to stop."

Holy Heavens, they don't need to touch. She's going to moan out loud.

Peeta is in front of her before she registers it. He offers her the coat.

"I gave this to you," he says.

"I'm not cold," she says, hypnotized. "My kind doesn't feel temperature."

"I don't care."

It would seem impossible given the depth of their talk, but Katniss chuckles. Without thinking, she takes the coat.

Her fingers brush against his.

Gasping, she scuttles backward. She'd been so overwhelmed by the moment, so focused on him, that she'd let her guard down, unconsciously choosing the power of touch. Peeta realizes this instantly. A split second of indecision, and then Katniss spins around, intending to grab a bow and aim it at him, merely to discourage the contact between them has tipped her balance and strength. She doesn't move fast enough.

His arms catch her from behind before she makes it to the wall. Those arms swath around her middle and hold tight, robbing her of breath. His chest beats against her back. Her body splinters apart like that dandelion he painted on the ornament. In that moment, she understands what she's been denying herself. Nothing has ever felt so good. She's never been held like this before. She wants to scream.

She does. He holds her tighter. And when she's done, she relaxes into him with a sigh. He turns her around. It's natural, the way their arms wrap around each other, him burying his face against the side of her neck, her pressing her forehead into his chest.

His fingers run over the green silk she's wearing. "I like these pajamas."

"I stole them."

"Like you stole my ornament?"

"I mean, I'll repay the shop later. Somehow. I'll repay you, too. Anything."

_Almost anything. Do not get carried away, Katniss._

"Yes, you will. You'll humor me. Right now. Put on your dress," he whispers. "And the coat."

After she does, he takes her outside, lacing their fingers together as if he suspects she'll put up that magic wall again, preventing them from touching. Their boots crunch through the snow as they walk to the frozen lake, where Katniss makes a sound of surprise. Resting by the water's edge are two pairs of ice skates.

"I said I would teach you," Peeta says.

She shakes her head. "I can't."

"Katniss."

"It's silly. It's for children."

"Katniss."

"_Human_ children."

"You won't fall," he promises. "And if you do, I'm the only one who can see you."

He knows that she isn't afraid of getting hurt, because she can't get hurt. She's afraid of looking like a fool. She has her pride.

She squints at him. Pale lids and lips. A lock of blond hair poking out of his hood. Soon, she will have to let him go, hand him over to his intended, and she dreads that moment. But if she wants, she can savor these last hours with him, store them in her memory. Something that really happened. Even if it does weaken her.

Their blades cut across the ice. He skates backward, holding her hands and guiding her around the edge of the lake. He is good at this, despite his limp. She bites her tongue in concentration. She reminds herself that she can climb the tallest tree. Jump from branch to branch. She mastered balance a long time ago. She can do this.

They make it to the center of the lake, where he pulls his hand away. She yelps, arms flapping for a second, then straightening. She skates. She squeals like a mortal because...well, because this is fun.

Peeta smiles. It's beautiful. And she thinks, _I made that happen_.

He grabs her. They spin slowly while staring at each other. Snow begins to fall, powdering the woods and making his teeth chatter.

Katniss pulls back, skates a few feet away. She cocks her head to the sky, noting the signs. She feels Peeta stop and watch her.

"A storm is coming," she says. "A strong one. Sometime tomorrow."

"You look sexy in that coat."

Her pulse picks up. Now, she knows what that feels like.

He has more to say. "When we first met, I wanted you to keep the coat because it suited you. But also because you looked so sexy. I like you because when I offered to teach you to skate, you didn't ask about my leg. Teaching you was also a ploy, because I knew you'd have to let me touch you. I decided to forgive you because you matter."

He waits openly for her response. It's her undoing. From the beginning, for reasons unknown, The Heavens had seen in her the promise of a matchmaker, a seductress, a goddess who could master the right caresses to make a person swoon. To know what each soul longed for and in what way.

She wants to be that person now. She wants to discover that part of herself. With him.

She reaches out, fingers the opening of his jacket. When he shivers, she grabs the material and pulls him to her. His skates sail across the lake until their chests bump. She knows what causes his bloodless lids to lower a fraction. She is fluent in the signs.

She takes his face in her hands, and at that single contact, her feminine center begins to pool. When her nose touches his, she is lost. Lost to the pure power of a mortal boy. She is careful, moving slowly, because there is still so much trust to be won. He is used to defending himself. Used to being unwanted.

But he's willing. She senses it and grows more confident. Bolder. She is the leader in this moment. He is the follower. His words were enough to ignite her. Now, it's her turn.

Peeta closes his eyes, sighing as she traces his mouth with her thumb, taking her time with the soft contours of him. He likes this, she notes. He wants more.

Her lips brush against his, over and over, gliding against him from different angles. Teasing him with her breath while his hands unravel her braid and then dive into her hair. The response causes a tiny noise to curl from her throat.

"Ask me to kiss you," she murmurs against his mouth.

"Kiss m—"

She seizes his lips before he can finish, parting them with her own. Her arms scale his shoulders, and she tugs the hood from his head, revealing the warm, blond hair underneath. She clings to the back of his neck as their mouths slant over one another. She meets his sweet tongue with her own and tastes mint and sugar and winter.

Unleashing a raw, pained, hungry sound that is distinctly mortal, Peeta's hands slip into her coat and grip the sides of her dress, a needy gesture that she reads, delights in. She deepens the kiss.

Until tomorrow, she owns him. He may not love her, but he wants her. She has him. She commands him.

But Peeta surprises her. His hands dip lower, sneaking beneath the hem of her dress and then over the new panties she's wearing. He smiles against her lips when he discovers them, then slides his fingers under the fabric, grazing her bare backside, rubbing in small circles and drawing a moan from her.

It's not until he changes the pace of the kiss that she realizes he's stolen control. The frenzied embrace calms down, becomes more concentrated. Katniss runs her tongue across his lower lip before digging into him once more, and he shudders yet again, and she can't get enough of that uncensored reaction. Their lips mold together, stroking and swaying like a drunken dance.

Their ice skates make gentle slicing sounds over the lake.


	7. Chapter 7

**Okay, the guest comment about Haymitch had me cracking up! **

**And to the guest who just celebrated a birthday: happy belated :) Sorry I couldn't do two chapters in one day, but I hope this one makes up for it.**

**Please check my profile if this story gets removed. Enjoy the sweetness!  
**

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Katniss walks backwards, pulling Peeta into the cottage by his jacket collar. He's flushed and thoroughly kissed. He's panting just as much as she is, the sounds of their eagerness pumping through the room.

She loses all sense of time and logic. She sees nothing but him. She feels nothing but the velocity of her own movements as she rids herself of her coat and then yanks his jacket off his shoulders. He tries to help her, fumbling with the sleeves in a hurry, but ends up stuck with his arms behind his back. That cute smile of his drives her wild.

"Help me?" he asks.

She loves hearing this. The way he needs her for the simplest thing. Even in his vulnerability, the question comes out husky.

She thinks of the couples she has matched. How often the boys would ask this of girls just before making love. So often those boys had seemed uncertain of where to aim themselves, needing the girls' guidance. Needing female hands to navigate them through uncharted space.

_Help me?_

She wants Peeta to ask her this in a dozen different ways before the night is over.

_Katniss, I need you to help me. _

_I need you._

_Help me._

Before he can blink, she frees him of the jacket, and it falls to the floor. There is one less barrier of clothing between them. His body is closer to hers now. A primal instinct takes over.

With a growl, she rips open the front of his shirt. He gasps. It excites him. He maneuvers her against the nearest table, lifts her off her feet, and drops her onto the wooden surface. Grabbing the backs of her knees, he gives one rough tug, sliding her to the edge until her thighs flank his waist. The fruit bowl beside her rattles. Apples and persimmons tumble and roll across the ground.

His abs form a beautiful grid of skin and muscle. She wants to watch that grid expand and contract while his body moves with hers. She forces herself to be patient because she doesn't know how far he wants to take this. It's his choice.

"Touch me the way you said you would," she says, reminding him of that first night here, when they sat by the fire.

Peeta's irises darken to a shade of blue she's never seen before. "First, your mouth," he says, running his thumbs over her lips. "Then your shoulders."

Dragging his hands down her neck, he removes the straps of her dress, tracing her skin along the way. These actions are tender and sweet, yet Katniss clings to him as if so much more is happening. His touch attacks her from too many angles to concentrate on at once. It's like a downpour. It produces a kaleidoscope of responses from her. That same honeyed taste, from their kiss on the lake, now flows freely through her mouth. Wherever his fingers brush, her skin ripples. His ragged breathing blows through her ears, light as a current of snowflakes. His natural, human, minty scent makes her purr.

Those brief moments with Bravery had been nothing like this. She may have been fully naked, and he may have been partially naked, but they'd only gotten as far as laying on the bed and kissing before it had become apparent—her saying Peeta's name out loud—that she wasn't as game as she pretended to be. Although it had been nice, comforting, even a little tasty, it cannot compare to what Peeta's doing to her.

Based on that haphazard interlude, Katniss believes that the deities who settle for a mindless romp in the sheets don't know what they're missing. Real emotion propels things to a whole new degree.

From her shoulders, Peeta moves on to the places he hadn't had the chance to list that night. Her breasts. The curve of her back. Her stomach. Her legs. He announces each place reverently just before exploring it with his gentle fingers. With each caress, she hisses and clutches him tighter. If her reaction seems hyperbolic to him, he doesn't show it.

"And." He kisses her lips, then whispers, "Your heart."

Katniss calms down as his palms press to her chest. Yes, there's her heart. He's found it for her.**  
**

She kisses his knuckles, as though to say _thank you_. They pin their foreheads together and smile. This is worth all the patience she has.

Coming up for air, she notices his nails are slightly blue. "You're still cold," she says.

"Not possible," he jokes.

Katniss wants to reclaim control. From the end of their first kiss until now, he has taken the lead, and she's enjoyed it. But no more. She is his goddess. She will put her training to use.

Gingerly, she pushes him back with the tips of her fingers and hops off the table, straightening the hem of her dress. The action is intentionally girly and coy. A tease. It drives Peeta to close the distance again, only to have her stop him.

"No," she says, then takes his hand and guides him into the bathroom. Surrounding the circular tub is a ridiculous amount of candles that she rarely uses. She lights them for him, happy they're scentless, because she only wants what's real.

She tells him, "Once you're inside the cottage, no one can see you from the outside."

"That doesn't matter to me. I don't care."

"Good. Because I'm not done with you yet."

He lets her ease off his pants, watches as she undresses him, stares at her like she'll disappear. She memorizes every taunt muscle, the profile of his backside and its inward curve, the delectable way his hip revolves because of his limp. He is enchanting. He has no idea.

The same question he once asked her flits through her mind:_ Who takes care of you?_

His mouth parts in relief when he sinks into the water and rests his head on the rim. She wishes she could feel the transition of his skin going from cold to warm, but she can't. So she doesn't dwell.

She offers him a wicked smirk through the curtain of steam. His eyes follow her, curious, as she climbs into the bubbles, soaking her dress in the process. She crawls over, needing his arms, and he opens them to her. She straddles him, grabs a loofah, and lightly grazes it across the underside of his arms. It makes him chuckle.

"You're stunning," she says. "With a smile like that, the Heavens would say, somewhere the sun is rising."

"I can see through your dress," he flirts.

"Well, I can see much more of you," she counters, then has an idea. "Speaking of which." She drops the loofah and slips behind him, bending her limbs on either side of his body to cradle him.

His joints tighten."What are you..."

He never finishes that sentence. Because her hands run down his chest, to his center, and grabs onto him. Everything about the contact is firm and narrow and slippery and creates an effervescent texture in her mouth, which increases with each gurgled noise Peeta makes. He sounds like he's in pain. A good pain. A good sign.

"Oh, my God," he croaks.

"My _Goddess_," she corrects.

He laughs as she cups his jaw, turns his face up to hers, and kisses him. He sighs into her mouth.

Not long after, his breathing becomes disjointed. His eyes squeeze shut. His hips shift, he grips the edges of the tub, and water laps over the side. The back of his head digs into her chest. His body rises out of the soapy pool like a land mass that Katniss wants to live on forever. She kisses the wet curls fanning around his right ear. She whispers encouragements.

While her hand spurs him on, she imagines she can feel what he feels. It's like parts of her have been knocked out of alignment and are moving chaotically out of sync. Winter colors flash in front of her. Purple wounds. Silver ornaments. Blue eyelids. Gray sky. The white lights in town. Her dress. His eyes. These colors spin faster.

The moment Peeta shudders, Katniss hums.

"That's it," she urges against his moist cheek. "That's it."

The incoherent splashing subsides.

Afterward, she grabs a pair of towels. She relishes the feeling of Peeta's fingers peeling off her dress. He takes longer than normal to dry her, his hands lingering, discovering her nudity.

"It's like watching a blank canvas become something new," he says. "It's like suddenly an image appears that I've had in my head for days. That's you. Right now."

Katniss cannot get past the confession that he's thought about her naked.

It isn't until he pulls on his boxers that she deduces his train of thought. He believes they have time to take things slowly. He doesn't know it's their only night. And maybe there's still a part of him that isn't quite there yet, quite ready to fully trust what is real and what isn't.

She can relate. As much as she wants to continue seducing him, she won't push it. It wouldn't be fair. She's selfish, but she's also in love.

He drapes the green silk shirt over her head, which lands mid-thigh, and says, "Don't wear the pants."

The sun sets. They start a fire and eat apple slices and bread rolls that Peeta has brought in a tote bag. He rips off chunks, smears them in butter, and makes her close her eyes as he feeds her. He sounds like a little boy when he introduces each type of loaf.

"And this is sourdough."

"This one has sunflower seeds in it."

"This is pumpernickel."

"Everyone loves this one. It's French bread."

Katniss's taste buds break into a riot. The salty, creamy butter melts on her tongue. Some breads are dense, others are spongy. The crusts snap between her teeth. She chews slowly, making sure she has Peeta's attention. She sucks the remaining butter from her finger.

Peeta drops his knife. It clatters against his plate.

They spend hours talking about everything except her peers and his family. If his parents are worried about him by now, Peeta doesn't seem to care. And she doesn't ask.

They end up rolling around on the rug, touching and kissing until they're both exhausted. In the bed, in the dark, she toys with his cleft as he drifts off.

Katniss rolls her head away, coaching herself to play nice instead of naughty, a feat that requires a completely different personality. Huffing, she twists back around, where Peeta lay. She beats her head against her pillow. It's no use. She's dripping by now.

Quietly, tentatively, she scoots closer to him. In her mind, it takes years to reach his body. Days for her hands to inch down the blanket, which becomes the loudest noise on the planet. Hours for her hands to make contact with his abdomen. She checks to make sure he's still sleeping, reduced back to a virginal deity instead of the seductress she wants to be. Choosing adoration over possessiveness.

And yet. She moves closer. She believes he won't mind.

The embers from the fire skip into the air. Peeta stirs. Nothing more. It takes her another fifteen minutes to proceed, dragging her fingers across his muscles like presents she's not allowed to open.

She waits.

Keeps going.

Her lips taste his ribcage. No response. This encourages her, pats her libido on the head as if to say, _you're doing just fine_. The way Venus might were she here.

It turns out, Peeta sweats in his sleep. Dots of moisture rise from the hollow between collarbones. Katniss's tongue manages a little taste, and she delays before swallowing, and it affects her like a potion. She traces the circumference of his belly button. It's so sweet. Then her index finger moves across the waistband of his boxers, tossing possibilities around in her head like loose marbles, then tossing them aside. Her finger restricts itself to the outer perimeter of the tight-fitting garment.

And then Peeta's waist rises off the mattress, giving her permission.

_He's awake._

There is second of shock before she tugs the boxers off him, kissing his bad knee on the way. When she returns to him, his eyes open and scan her in the dark.

She stares at him questioningly. He nods, mouths one word: _yes_. Now, she knows what it's like to shiver.

Her silk shirt lands on the floor. She climbs on top of him, kisses him wildly, and he matches her need. He tips his head back to let her explore his throat, and down, and down. He begins to sweat more. The whimpering sounds he makes are a guide, telling her what to do, how hard, how long. His body arcs off the mattress like one of her bows.

She is careful not to bite.

His cries become more male, more frustrated. He grabs her and rolls her over, dropping himself between her thighs. They admit the same thing to each other.

"I've never done this."

Then, afterward, as his mouth pants against hers, they have.

After a teasing start, and a stream of moisture, and him asking her to _help_, and a thrust of his hips, and her insides soaking him to the brim, and a building rhythm, and his stomach rubbing against hers, and his body quivering, and his hands pinning her arms to the mattress, and her begging him to _please, please, please_, and a chorus of moans that get louder and louder. After all that, they have done _this_.

And between then and morning, _this_ happens again. And again.


	8. Chapter 8

As the sun rises, Peeta lay on top of her, his entire body quivering like a leaf. Katniss threads her fingers through the damp curls at the base of his neck while they both try to catch their breaths. She'd worried that having sex with her would end up being too much for him. That they would have to stop. Yet they hadn't stopped. They'd repeated themselves.

On the mattress.

Up against the headboard.

On the mattress once more.

Three times. Each interlude more desperate than the last.

At one point, she felt his heartbeat against her breast. The speed of his pulse magnified her concern. She'd been about to suggest they slow down, but then he did this thing with his hip, and she'd gotten dizzy.

Peeta surprised her by lasting through all of it. And now, wrapped around him, she suspects she'd been wrong about her immortal affect on him.

Until he mumbles, exhausted, into her neck, "Holy shhhhit."

"I know," she agrees, amazed.

Their breathing turns into giggles. They refuse to get dressed just yet. They stare. They smile. They administer lazy caresses to one another. She plays with his bangs. He touches her face. He draws the blanket over their heads and tickles her. They press their palms together, the way they once did beside the bridge. But this time, their skin makes contact.

He rolls onto his stomach and idly plays with his old ornament. She climbs onto his back and lays there, her body flush against his, resting her chin on his shoulder as he traces the broken dandelion. They fall silent.

kpkpkpkpkp

Katniss walks Peeta to the fence bordering the woods. It's Christmas Eve. A busy morning for his family.

The wind is building, picking up speed, a prelude to that impending blizzard she predicted yesterday. Her arrow pack feels heavy on her shoulder. She'd told him she always carries it into town. She wonders if he suspects anything.

Indeed, he has a tight grip on her hand, as if he knows. He knows this is the end for them. He knows from the maddened way they made love all night.

They haven't spoken since they left the glass house. They stop and stare at the town, ripe with the scents of pine and chimney smoke. Christmas tree lights blink from inside the houses. A truck full of fire wood rattles by.

"It's me, isn't it?" Peeta asks in a voice as quiet as snowfall. "I'm the one you're supposed to match next. With Glimmer."

Katniss watches his pale profile. She wants to ask how he figured this out, but she can't speak yet. She'd only choke if she tried.

As though reading her thoughts, he explains, "The day I got into that fight with Cato, you asked me if I liked his girlfriend. It's her, isn't it?"

Katniss loathes this conversation, no matter how necessary it is. She waits until he faces her, and then she nods.

He works to keep his features in tact. "I don't want her."

_You will._

"You think Glimmer's pretty."

"Every guy in town thinks she's pretty. So what? I still don't want her. Even if I did, I wouldn't want it to happen like this."

"You two seemed awfully close at Cato's party."

Peeta balks. "You were there?"

"It's my job, remember? I had to be there. You showed her your drawings of me."

A pink tint rises on his cheeks, but he also looks angry. Katniss knows her jealousy is irrational and moot. She'd needed for Glimmer and Peeta to get close, but she doesn't know what happened after she fled the party. She merely knows what happened during it.

"You smiled at her. You held her hand."

"She was in tears," he argues. "I felt bad for her. She's always been nice to me. Jesus, Katniss. Isn't it obvious? I want you."

_Because I'm a goddess. Because you lust after me. Because I enchant you. Because you don't know any better._

It's easier to believe this, to believe he doesn't love her, couldn't love her, because she is unlovable, than to hope he has stronger feelings. From him, she sees only desire, wonder, intrigue.

His hands ball into fists. He looks like he wants to throw something. "What will happen if you don't do it?"

"You'll die," she says.

He frowns and clarifies, "To _you_. What will happen to you?"

She sucks in a mouthful of air. This boy is impossible. He's just been told his life is at stake, yet he's not thinking of himself at all. She understands now why he can see deities.

"It doesn't matter, Peeta."

"It does!" he shouts, the words echoing through town. "Tell me."

"I'll be punished," she says. "Banishment, maybe. It's up to a higher order of people. My maker and some others. I could be stripped of my power—"

"They'll kill you. Am I right?"

She presses her lips together.

He grabs her face. "Am. I. Right?"

If she lies to him, she won't hurt him. But he might also try to find a way out of this.

"It's possible," she mumbles. "There are ways to kill deities. It's a last resort. I'm not sure my crime would be that severe."

Peeta's expression breaks down, caves in on itself. He squeezes his eyes shut and then opens them. So much blue.

"Okay," he whispers. "Okay."

She's never been given consent by a mortal to match them. It's always been done behind their backs. It makes her feel worse. She despises this job.

"When?" he asks.

This she can lie about. It's better if it happens when he doesn't expect it. So she tells him it won't be for a while, even though the words aren't true.

He studies her. "And now, you're about to tell me not to come back. That I can't see you anymore. That's why last night happened."

"Yes."

He grabs her. Hugs her. She clings to him, smells him, counts his heartbeat.

His kiss is tender and then ardent. Their mouths clamp onto one another, reaching for something they can't have. She breaks away with a cry and barks at him to go. He shakes his head, defiant, and kisses her once more.

Then he turns away, not looking back, his limp creating that signature trail through the snow, as though it's his way of telling her she always knows where to find him.

Katniss waits until he's gone before crying. She covers her face and sinks to her knees. She allows herself a minute of this, then grunts and wipes the tears, sucking them up. She stands and squares her shoulders.

For an hour, she waits by the fence, surveying the town's activity. Snow begins to trickle, but neighbors are braving the elements in order to head toward the bakery. Glimmer and her parents drive by. Katniss follows the tire tracks.

When they get out of the car, Glimmer seems preoccupied, constantly biting her nails. She looks sad. But she gets a little peppier when they reach the bakery. Either it's the smell of holiday bread and pastries, or it's Peeta. At the very least, they're fond of each other and aren't afraid to touch.

The lovers' hearts are ready. And it's Christmas Eve, Katniss thinks sarcastically. How romantic.

She creeps to the back entrance, slips through the door. The air is moist. Happy voices ring from the front counter. She moves deftly, knowing she can't let Peeta catch her there. She peaks around the corner from the hallway. His family is bustling from shelf to shelf. He's at the front, talking to Glimmer and her father. His voice is polite but awkward. Even from behind, Peeta looks stunning in an apron, with flour dusting his forearms.

His mother passes by and ruffles Peeta's hair. He stiffens, then relaxes when nothing else happens.

Katniss swipes an arrow from her pack and sets her bow. She has to do it. Now. It's a clear shot. She has to strike him through the heart before he turns around.

The weapon feels leaden in her hands. Her breathing is uneven and shaky. Her fingers are clumsy. She steps into the room. No one can see her except the person that matters most. The boy who will forget she existed. The boy who will fall in love in a matter of seconds.

_It will happen quickly. _

_He won't know any different._

Peeta miscounts the money Glimmer's father hands over and has to start again. Another boy that looks slightly younger than Peeta elbows him and whispers, "Get it together, bro. You're acting weird. And she's hot."

Glimmer smiles at Peeta, aware of what his brother has said. Katniss fails to stifle an undignified sob. The sound pushes through the bakery. Peeta's shoulder blades flex. Alert. The instant he pivots around and his eyes lock onto hers, there's a charged moment of confusion, then awareness, then fear, then betrayal. She never said it would be today.

With a cry, she releases the arrow. It disappears into his chest, flashes, and dulls. The impact sends him into the counter. People flood around him, asking if he's okay. To them, it looks like his bad leg has given out.

Glimmer touches his shoulder. Katniss aims and fires again, and the girl goes careening into her father. The building quakes as the snowfall outside whips into a blizzard. Peeta's mother gasps, makes a comment about the ground shaking, as though trying to reason what just happened.

Peeta and Glimmer stumble to their feet. And glance at each other. And don't look away. Their shocked gazes connect. He grips the counter.

That's all Katniss can bear. She flees, barreling through the back door, causing it to slam open and shut. She sprints across town, her pack slapping against her, tears stinging her eyes and turning to icicles on her cheeks. The blizzard is a thick curtain. She can barely see. On top of that, her speed isn't what it should be. How is that possible?

In the forest, the wind stirs up of fragments of nature. Pine cones and branches and gusts of snow. Her boots sink into the white landscape. The closer she gets to the glass house, the more a strange sensation overtakes her. The snow, the air. They sting her skin. She has the bizarre need to pull her coat closed to block out the storm.

The discomfort baffles her. She glances down and gasps. Her fingers are quaking. The nails have turned blue.

_What is happening to me?_

An evil force of wind shoves at her. She stumbles to the ground. The discomfort gets worse because the snow is wet and something else. There's another kind of sting. A sharp, piercing feeling poisoning her blue-nailed hand. A thin line of blood carves through her palm. But goddesses don't bleed. What does this mean? Have The Heavens decided to teach her a lesson anyway? Had she not completed her job fast enough?

Then she sees it. Her bow and arrow pack lay beside her. One of the arrows has a red tip. From where it scratched her.

Katniss screams. She crawls backward,trying to escape her own wound, gaping at her pasty hand while snow pelts her face and makes her teeth chatter. That's when she realizes. The physical response. The blue nails. The odd little bumps in her skin. These are human responses to temperature.

She's cold.

Her mouth opens, she can't find it in her to make any more sound. Someone else screams instead. A voice she loves. It tears through the trees, roaring her name, calling for her. The voice is getting louder, wrestling through the blizzard, panicked.

Not only is she on the verge of turning into a mutant. Not only is she losing her mind, but Peeta's looking for her. Why? He's supposed to be with Glimmer, making goo-goo eyes. Why can't he be predictable?

She gathers her bow and arrow, finding it harder and harder to move, but he can't catch her here. She can't look at him. If she does, she will poison herself. Being scratched with her own arrow, and then looking upon someone else who is already matched with another, is a curse. She'll go mad with unrequited love. That's why The Heavens had stripped the last love huntress.

Katniss scrambles as far from the voice as she can. She attempts to climb a tree but shrieks with frustration when she can't get a grip, nor find the strength to pull herself up. She scraps her knee and winces in shock. Now, she knows what pain feels like.

She settles for tucking herself behind the tree, pressing a fist to her mouth because she's so cold, everywhere is so cold. How have mortals endured this? Maybe they are stronger than deities give them credit for.

"Katniss!"

She shakes her head violently. He shouldn't be out here. Not with his leg. He'll never make it back before the storm buries him.

"Katniss!"

Why, why, why? He knows she can take care of herself.

Then again...his memory of her should be gone. This makes no sense. She punctured him with her arrow. He should be love struck. He should not remember her at all.

"Katn..."

The voice sounds tired. She waits to hear it again, but it doesn't come. He could be hurt. If she doesn't help him, he'll freeze to death. He's an idiot!

She crawls toward the direction she heard him coming from, fear stabbing at her when she catches sight of that blond hair half-concealed beneath snow. He's lying face down.

She doesn't think. She doesn't care if she suffers for this. She's already crazy.

"Peeta," she shrieks, reaching him on all fours. She shakes him, but he doesn't move. She has to put all her weight into it to roll him over. His face has lost all trace of color. Of life. "No!"

"There, there. No need for drama. That's my job."

Katniss stills. That wind chime voice pierces her. Slowly, her eyes lift and meet its source. A perky, high cheek-boned face. A striking face, bright as a tiara, that Katniss has answered to her whole life. The woman wears her usual elaborate gown, with her hair done up in curls and a slight hint of experimental color woven through the locks. She has always been flamboyant with her style.

"Well now, my dear," Venus pipes. "It's not even noon, and you've already had a big, big, big day."


	9. Chapter 9

**Many thanks to DustWriter for beta-reading. Thank you guys for favoriting, following, and commenting. I read every review and smiled the whole time :)  
**

**"Goddess" characters are identified on my profile. Enjoy!**

* * *

Peeta is unconscious. His pulse is slow. Katniss gathers him against her chest. She knows it's a feeble attempt to protect him from her maker.

Venus tsks. "It's not him I'm after."

Katniss hisses, "I did what I was supposed to."

"What you were _born_ to do," Venus corrects while examining her nails, not bothered by the storm.

Katniss is losing her ability to think straight. The vision before her is hazy. She refuses to let go of Peeta, but his weight is getting heavier and heavier, and her arms are becoming sluggish. It's like she's been thrust into a different body. The weakness makes her feel artificial and clueless. And furious.

"Think you can mock me, do you?" Venus asks.

"I didn't—"

"No, you did not!" she snaps, losing the smile. "Daring to question this match. Entertaining the possibility of refusing. Keeping up this ridiculous veneer of modesty and chastity, even when Bravery _warned you—_" Here, she has to check herself when her voice booms. She pats her hair. "—warned you that experience was part of your job.

"Delaying and delaying and delaying this match. Failing to get it right. I chose you for a reason. You had such potential, and I have a reputation in our realm, and yet my little huntress goes belly up on me. On the most important of pairings, involving a mortal boy who has the ability to see us. A direct threat. You weren't just serving me. You were serving The Heavens. Even right before you shot him, you hesitated. What does that tell me?"

"But I—"

A biting pain slashes across Katniss's face. Her head whips to the side from Venus's slap. Katniss drops Peeta and crumbles in the snow while her maker leans over her. The woman smells like cake.

_Peeta's going to die from the cold. _

_I'm going to die, too._

_Venus is going to kill me._

Her maker is not permitted to punish without proper judgment or the other higher deities present. She's overriding authority. But Katniss has known Venus a long time and should have anticipated this. The woman doesn't wait to get what she wants. And she's livid for being made to look the fool.

But why? Even if Katniss had delayed, violated some rules, she still did her job. What has Venus so enraged?**  
**

She wants to fight back, but Venus is of a superior rank. She's stronger. Meanwhile, Katniss has no real weapon. All she has is a matchmaking bow, which does no good in battle, and she barely has the stamina to throw a rock.

Venus leers at Peeta, taking pleasure in knowing he's freezing to death. Katniss is certain she's not far behind him. At least they'll be together in some way after all of this is over.

"Too bad," Venus says. "I can see why you like him. He's delectable. If you hadn't been in need of a test, I wouldn't have ordered you to match him. Instead, I would have ordered you to give him to me. He would have made a beautiful slave."

There had been a story. One case in the past, before Katniss existed, when the higher deities had made an exception of a human who could see them. Instead of hunting the mortal down and deposing of her, The Heavens had brought her to the meadow to live as a servant. To be toyed with and seduced. Eventually, she became so consumed with passion for her master that it killed her.

If Peeta hadn't become Katniss's final test, slavery could have been an option. Especially with the way the goddess is looking at him. In his final moments, he's being regarded as a thing. A non-entity. A possession.

There's nothing she can do. There's no point. It's illogical. But she musters what energy she has left anyway, grabs her arrow, lurches to her feet, and launches herself at the woman. She haphazardly swings the arrow toward the goddess's face, but Venus is too quick. She snatches the arrow and snaps it in half, then crushes Katniss's fist, causing her to wail and land on the ground again.

"That was very foolish of you, my girl," Venus sneers. "Almost as foolish as not humoring to me in the _first place_."

"But I did shoot him. And the girl," Katniss gasps.

"True, you did. You did shoot the boy and the girl. Too little. Too late."

What does that mean? Katniss struggles to understand, but the trees are spinning. The branches are multiplying. The blizzard lashes at her. She cannot tell the difference between the glacial cold and the torture of Venus's grip. It feels the same. The world is so white. Her dress is so white. Peeta's face is so white.

In the distance, she sees blue. Not a blue shape or object. Not even a blue mist. Just the shade itself. She sees the sun, too. She misses them both and wonders how she ever took them for granted, but now they're here with her. If she can reach them, she'll be safe. Maybe she can drag Peeta there, and then they can finally go to sleep.

It's time. Katniss is resigned. The blue and the sun have comforted her. She waits, watches as Venus raises her hand to deliver a death blow.

The goddess jerks forward. Her glittery-shadowed eyes pop in surprise. She passes out in the snow. A great bit lump of jewels and beauty.

Behind her, Anger lowers his bow. Or at least Katniss thinks it's Anger. She cannot say for sure. She's too exhausted. The snow is very comfortable.

kpkpkpkpkp

She wakes up to an orange sunset filtering through a window. She recognizes her cottage, only it's not made of glass. The walls are solid. The lamps are glowing, not from magic but actual plugs and outlets. Electricity. Which explains the appliances in the kitchen that she's never seen before. A home created for a mortal.**  
**

Katniss bolts upright from her pillow and squints, pressing her palm to her head. It's pounding. Her hand is bandaged and feels sore. A weight stirs beside her, smelling like mint.

"Peeta," she says, whirling around.

He's passed out on the bed, as naked as she is. He's shaking and sweating, but he's alive. Across the room, the fire in the hearth roars. She brushes a lock of hair off his head—it feels weird, like she could bake on it, another new kind of discomfort, which means none of this is a hallucination.

Voices drift from outside. Katniss grabs a spare blanket and wraps it around herself, then rushes through the front door and stops short, not only because of the foreign sensation of cold, but also because of her guests.

"Hubba hubba," Bravery says, admiring her lack of clothes.

The four hunters are gathered in a circle, looking weary and grumpy. The sunset indicates it's late afternoon. The forest is calm. No more blizzard.

"Are you okay?" Honesty asks.

Katniss doesn't bother with that inquiry. "What happened?"

"Venus got carried away," Anger says, leaning his shoulder against a tree. "My arrow helped cool her heels. She'll get over it now that The Heavens know what she tried to pull."

Anger took down Venus. It becomes clear. He'd acted within the rules. According to law, lower deities are permitted to use their weapons against the higher ranks if there's an abuse of power.

She shakes her head. "I did what I was told. I did my job."

Sorrow scoffs. "Keep telling yourself that."

"Venus was pissed because you didn't want to be like us anymore," Anger says. "You didn't want to serve her. You're a disappointment, but her ego doesn't like the idea of being turned down."

Katniss blinks. "But I fired the arrow—"

"It didn't work," Honesty says, grinning. "Peeta fell for you last night. You've been human since then."

Katniss's throat clogs. That's why she can feel the cold. That's why Peeta still remembered her even after she shot him. The intensity of what they shared last night wasn't because she was a goddess, it was because he loves her. He has set her free.

"I'm supposed to be given the choice first," she argues. "No one approached me. I made no verbal indication."

Bravery blows out a puff of air. "You made your decision a long time ago, Love. The Heavens knew what it would be. There was no need to ask you formally. Aside from Venus, the rest of them were happy to get rid of you, after the headaches you've caused. Don't act so surprised. You know how self-serving they can be."

"But I didn't feel the cold until I left the bakery. And his family, all those people inside…none of them could see me."

Sorrow groans. "Did you pay attention at all during hunting training?"

"You lose your immortality in stages," Honesty explains. "Your bow hasn't worked since last night. After that, the next thing to go is strength, which happened around the time you ran out of the bakery. Hence, the blue fingers and the cut on your hand. The final thing to go will be invisibility. The world will be able to see you, oh, by tonight, I'd say."

Of course, Katniss would have dozed off during that part of hunting training.

"My arrow went through Peeta. I saw it go into his heart," she points out.

"That was just a bit of spite on the Gods' part. They weren't going to let you go without tormenting you," Anger says. "They can be just as wicked as you when it's justified. Do you have any idea how insulting it is to know a deity would rather be human, after all they're given? This is the problem with being bewitched by the lower species." He stares her down. "You'll have to keep our secret from now on."

Katniss understands. Despite her mortality, she's retained her memory and can see deities. Even though she's no longer immortal, there will always be part of her that's connected to that world.

But knowledge is power. The more humanity learns about the real mythology, the stronger humans could become. From there, the ability to see deities would evolve, grow, spread. And from there, it would be easy for their sensitive nature to weaken The Heavens. Katniss will have to guard her roots, keep the true stories veiled, but she isn't worried about that.

"Can Peeta still see all of you?" she asks.

"Yes," Honesty answers.

"Then there's nothing stopping The Heavens from killing him."

"They won't. Your union protects him now."**  
**

"As long as he keeps his mouth shut," Anger says. "Both of you. Can we trust you to do that?"

Katniss nods.

"The higher deities let you keep the house. Payment for Venus's transgression against you. You may have pushed the boundaries, but she outright violated them."

"There's food inside. I mean, not just fruit," Honesty adds.

"You'll have to do the rest yourself, if you want to survive," Anger says.

There's a bigger reason he's saying this. She asks, "What's wrong with Peeta?"

"He's got a fever."

A new kind of fear breeds in her chest. Honesty pats her on the shoulder before leaving. Sorrow shakes her head as though Katniss is the strangest person she's ever met, then takes off. On his way after them, Bravery tosses her a wry grin that says _no hard feelings_ regarding their little half-tryst.

Anger lingers behind. He studies the frozen lake, looking serious as usual, but also confounded.

"Thank you for what you did," Katniss says.

It takes a great deal of courage to stand up to a higher deity, but she doesn't tell him this. He would consider the comment pretentious. He'd get defensive. He'd claim that he's not an ignorant oaf who needs to be told things.

He's still frowning at the water. Katniss wonders if he's ever loved someone. Or if Honesty ever has. Or Sorrow. Or Bravery. All of them have wasted their time teasing and bating each other. They'd never asked one another the right questions. Shouldn't it be a deity's priority to do that?

Finally, Anger settles on a response. "I did what was right."

"Why do you hate me?"

His gaze jerks toward her. "I don't."

He doesn't sound convincing. He taps one of his arrows against his thigh. "I don't hate you, but we're two sides of the same coin."

"No. Love and anger are not the same."

"They're both fierce emotions. They're both passionate. They breed the same kind of fire."

"I will not believe that."

"That's your choice."

"And it's your choice not to give me a real answer." She's not in the mood for riddles, but suddenly she's scared. If he's being evasive, it means there's a stronger reason why he's scowled at her all their lives. And that reason has to do with the way his gray eyes shift to the cottage, where Peeta is, and then back to her.

Katniss holds the blanket tighter to her chest. "Forget it."

Of course, once she says it, he chooses not to. "I don't hate you," he enunciates more slowly, deeply, like the words are coming from some bottomless place inside him. "I've never _hated_ you. Understand?"

The woods grow silent, creating a tension that's far more intrusive than whenever they've bickered in the past.**  
**

Gently, her back sags against the cottage wall. "Oh...Oh...I...I see..."

Now that she knows what love feels like, guilt attacks her, a sentimental emotion that's magnified by her mortality. She would never want to break a person's heart. Yet it turns out, she's been doing just that for who knows how long. She's been doing it to Anger.

She's glad he never told her until today. She would have had to reject him. And she probably would have done it tactlessly.

"You've never been a straight arrow, so to speak," he says. "You don't make being a fellow hunter easy. You always frustrated me, but I liked you anyway."

It makes sense to Katniss now. His incessant lectures over the years had been the product of worry. Wanting her to behave herself, knowing what would happen if she didn't. She must have driven him crazy.

"I'm sorry," she says.

Anger shrugs. "I'll live, to say the least. Make sure you do, too."

His concern is yet another shock to her system. Humans lead a fragile, unstable existence. That's her future now, but if Peeta is there with her, it will be worth it.

If he is there.

Anger nods toward the house. "Look after him. Stay with him."

She wants to run back inside. "Always," she says.

kpkpkpkpkp

Peeta tosses and turns and mumbles incoherently throughout the night. Katniss doesn't know what a fever feels like. But when she compares the fire in the hearth to his skin, she gets a pretty good idea that he isn't doing well.

There's a phone in the cottage, but she doesn't know his family's number. She searches his pant pockets, hoping to find an emergency contact in his wallet, but comes up empty-handed. It's a small town. The nearest hospital is too many miles away. She knows this from having eavesdropped on conversations between neighbors, listening as they told stories of recent accidents and close calls. Unpredictable daily life.

There's the apothecary, where she once saw a pretty little blond girl, not quite a teenager yet, working the counter. That place is reachable. As is the bakery. Help is within walking distance.

The problem is that Peeta's condition fluctuates rapidly. One moment, he shows signs of improvement. The next, he appears to get worse. She's terrified to leave him alone. She's confused. She doesn't know how to be a mortal, nor how to heal one. She doesn't know what to do.

_Who takes care of you?_

She masks her hysteria by singing in his ear. The rest of the time, she presses a soaked rag to his forehead. It's hard to get him to drink water while he's in and out of consciousness. It dribbles down his chin.

At one point, burning up and delirious, he slaps her. Her kiss calms him down. He goes still.

"I love you," she says.

"Don't leave me," she says.

"Not like this," she says.

"Please," she says.

She watches him for a few more hours, then gets into bed and fastens her arms around him, wishing she could absorb his fever. She talks to him about all the rascally things she's done in the past. Sometimes, she laughs while she speaks. Other times, she doesn't.

Her now-mortal tears leak into his mouth. His lips part a fraction, like he's mistaken it for an elixir. As pitiful as it is, she doesn't stop her weeping. He doesn't stop drinking from her.

kpkpkpkpkp

She wakes up Christmas Day to a pair of lips grazing the tops of her breasts. She sighs at first, arching her back for more. And then her memory returns. She jolts in surprise.

Peeta lifts his head from her breasts and smiles. "Hey," he says weakly.

He looks exhausted, but he's no longer hot. His body feels just like hers. His skin has returned to its wintry shade. His irises are saturated in blue.

Katniss throws herself on top of him, plastering him with kisses all over his face. He tries to return her kiss, tries to wipe her face dry, but she won't stay still. Then she veers back, realizing he's probably too fatigued for this. She covers her mouth because the wounded sounds she's making are embarrassing.

"Hey," he says again, tugging at her arms. "Don't do that."

"I'm sorry. I'm—"

"I said, don't," he whispers. He pulls her down to his chest and takes her mouth in a tender kiss. When he leans back, he asks, "What happened?"

"You collapsed in the snow." Katniss slams her palm on the pillow. "What were you thinking?"

"That you'd just shot me and Glimmer with an arrow and ran away into a blizzard. Wearing nothing but my coat and, like, a half-yard of fabric."

"You knew I'd be fine."

"Katniss," he says. "You'd just _shot me_. And nothing happened."

"I know." Not wanting to crush Peeta, she wriggles off his body and lays on her side, facing him.

He rests his hand on her hip. "Glimmer thought she was having a heart attack. It was too stormy out, so her father had to stop her from going straight to Cato's house. But she's probably there now. She wouldn't quit blubbering about him."

Katniss nods. Those two lovers will be okay from now on.

"My parents tried to stop me from running out, too," Peeta says.

"They should have done a better job."

"Your arrow hurt like hell."

She's never known how it felt to be struck down. It's fascinating to learn this.

"It won't happen again," she assures him.

Her bow is powerless now, but The Heavens have allowed her to keep it. Actually, all the bows in her collection are still mounted on the wall. Maybe she can use them for something else. Like real hunting. Maybe she can sell whatever she catches to a butcher, or maybe at the farmer's market.

"Why didn't it work?" Peeta seems concerned, especially when he notices the bandage on her hand. He sits up, gifting her with a lovely view of his chest. "Are you in danger? Who did this to you? I thought you said you can't be hurt."

She shakes her head. It's too much to reveal all at once. There's plenty of time to explain later. She tells him this, promises that everything will be alright, they'll both be alright. She doesn't relent when he whines for more information. He has a right to know, but she's not going to rehash everything when he's just woken up from a dangerously high fever and she's still reeling from her new status as a human. It hasn't sunk in yet.

"Ask me a simpler question," she says.

"Why aren't the walls made of glass?"

"Try something else," she says.

"I dreamed about you again."

Did he dream about the confrontation with Venus? Her talk with the other hunters? Taking care of him last night? Perhaps dreaming about deities is another one of his abilities. Perhaps he already knows everything and wants her to verify it. He's too damn persistent. Really, she doesn't want to do anything but hold onto him.

She tries to joke, "Did I sneak into your room?"

"You said you loved me."

She stills. Outside the window, she sees the sun's rays filtering through the gray and hitting the lake. It looks like the ice is beginning to melt, but it's hard to tell for sure. The forest is bare and white, but the color is not as harsh anymore.

"In the dream, I was here, in this bed. And you asked me not to leave you. You told me you love me." He searches her face.

She fiddles with the wispy little curls at the ends of his hair. "That was real."

He grins, relieved, hopeful. "You know what this means. There's no way I'm letting you go."

"Okay."

"I want to be with you."

She presses her palm against his. She feels a new kind of sensory response to him. It's simpler, softer, but still intense. Because it allows her to anticipate, to shiver, to sweat.

Pushing her backward onto the mattress, he hovers above her. "So..."

"So," she echoes happily.

"Where are my clothes?"

"You had a fever."

A pause.

"Where are _your_ clothes?"

She rubs her thumb across his lower lip. "You need rest."

So does she. After that, he should call the bakery to tell his family he's okay. After that, they should eat. After that—

She yelps when he wrenches her to him, their bodies flush against one another.

"First, I need to get tired," Peeta murmurs, quelling her laughter with kiss.

Now, she knows what heat feels like.


	10. Chapter 10

**Hey! The season inspired me with an idea for a belated epilogue :) Many thanks to DustWriter and Chelzie for their help, and to Nightlock Recs for recommending this story.**

**So here's a special greeting card from me to you guys. Happy holidays!  
**

**Musical inspiration: "Somebody" by Depeche Mode.  
**

* * *

_Epilogue_

The evergreen is so tall, the townspeople have to crane their heads to spot the winged figure above. Instead of a star, an angel draped in a white dress crowns the top of the Christmas tree—a sight that makes Katniss smirk with amusement and a great deal of nostalgia. She was hardly an angel in her heyday. Nor did she used to have wings.

And her dress was certainly shorter than that.

But like the figure, she once looked down upon the mortal world. She used to be able to scale such heights with ease. Up, up, up to her leafy throne in the forest.

Now, approaching her first full year as a human, she stands in the town's main square, during what they call the Annual Tree Lighting Ceremony, and finds herself waiting on the ground like the rest of her neighbors.

She's one of them. She has been ever since a mortal boy with wintry eyes stole her heart. Ever since she chose this fragile life instead of an eternity of power tainted by solitude. She was once the goddess of love...but not true love. Not real love.

He'd taught her the advantages of the Real. Which is why Katniss—no longer the Cupid of this world—doesn't mind being just a girl.

A swirl of red and white lights pops on. The tree twinkles, inciting a chain reaction of happy sighs across the square. Everyone claps as bulbous silver ornaments sway from the branches. A pine-scented current of air rides through the crowd.

Katniss grins. She wants to disappear inside the tree and fall asleep like a chipmunk. She peers through the needles to assess the thickness of the branches, debating how much weight they can hold.

It turns out it's not that kind of tree. The boughs are too wobbly to scale. Disappointed, she resists the urge to stomp her foot or steal an ornament out of spite. It's not as if she would make it that far up the branches anymore. Not without scraping a knee or twisting an ankle. Both consequences have befallen her this past year, when she attempted to climb trees in the woods. Nevertheless, this doesn't stop her from wanting to try again.

Her beloved laughingly calls her stubborn. So be it. Habits perfected over eons cannot be forgotten in twelve months. She is still mischievous. She is still proud. She still uses her bow, but to hunt wild animals for supper rather than match unsuspecting lovers.

She still tries to smell and taste emotions, because not sensing what others are feeling is a trial that makes her confused, nervous, sometimes aggressive. But also more passionate for discovery. Especially whenever he's writhing beneath her.

She wants to take her mittens off and touch the tree. She gets as far as her right thumb, freeing the finger from the green wool, when the frigid temperature works its own form of mortal magic and causes her skin to go numb.

She scowls. The drawbacks to being human are numerous. Ear aches, food poisoning, body hair that constantly needs shaving, the bone-chilling arrival of winter. There's a burn mark on her wrist from underestimating the hearth's temperature as she added wood to the fire in her lake cottage. Not to mention the cut wounds on her arm from when she swiped dishes off the table in a fit of ex-Goddess rage—all because her beloved had accused her of "overreacting" to something. She cannot remember what.

At the time, she had no concept of what it meant to "overreact," and the foreign phrase had set her into a tailspin of displeasure. For his part, her wintry-eyed boy matched her temper, grabbing the only surviving plate from the table and hurling it against a wall. Such heated exchanges are rare, but when they happen...oh, how the fire burns both ways.

They'd ended up laughing hysterically and making love afterward. That's what makes it worth it. The advantages of this life are greater than the drawbacks. Above all her selfish grievances, she is grateful. She is free.

It begins to snow. A small brass band plays a tune. An even smaller group begins to carol. Katniss adjusts her beanie and hums along with them.

Ah, this. Just this. This is another advantage. Everyone can see and hear her. She is visible. She is no longer anonymous. In the beginning, she'd cowered from the people in town, overwhelmed by the sensation of being exposed, afraid they would somehow recognize that she was from a different world, that she'd once had power over them.

On the contrary, all she encountered was curiosity and friendliness. Everyone is happy that her beloved has "such a cute girlfriend."

"Katniss!"

A celestial-looking blonde waves from across the snow, flashing Katniss a smile brighter than tinsel while dragging her colossal boyfriend towards the gazebo. It took a while for Katniss to like them—Cato because he'd once punched Katniss's boyfriend, and Glimmer because she was once a potential match for him.

It's a queer but entertaining concept, that adversaries can become friends. Deities are not that flexible.

Katniss waves back as the pair flounces off to their designated make-out spot. She enjoys openly watching them. It's what she always used to do around lovers.

A new Goddess hasn't been assigned to this region. Perhaps The Heavens want to avoid the constant risk of them crossing paths. Besides, it's a big world with other places that need Love. This mountain hamlet doesn't require immortal "assistance" as much as it once did.

The night continues. Most of the townspeople retreat to their homes, leaving behind only a handful of onlookers. It gets even colder, but she refuses to let the weather drive her indoors. She closes her lids and rubs her palms together, thinking of blue eyes and pale skin.

His arms slip around her waist from behind, as if her fantasy has summoned him. His plush coat grazes hers. His hot breath puffs against her neck.

She smells him. Cinnamon. Dough. Sweat.

She hears him. Snow crunching beneath his boots. The uneven gait of his bad leg as he moves closer to her. His cracked voice reaching out.

"I knew I'd find you here," Peeta whispers.

"It's very pretty," she says of the tree. "And very high."

"Huh. So you thought about climbing it, did you?"

She frowns. She never fools him. "It's got an angel at the top."

He turns her around to face him. "You weren't an angel."

_No. I was a myth._

This isn't what she says, though.

"But _you_ are," she answers. "You're my angel."

He grins. His cheeks and mouth are porcelain. Only his irises retain color.

"Did you see? She's wearing a white dress."

He glances up. "Not as short as yours."

Katniss tilts her head to decipher the emotions coating his words. He sounds tired and husky, and she's still amazed at how he can balance ardor with more aggressive emotions. It makes angry sex immensely pleasurable. Sometimes the naughty side of her picks a fight with the moody side of him, just so he'll pin her against a wall and tug her clothes off.

Equally as magnificent are the delicate, patient interludes. It's been a week since the last time. She senses his awareness of this. Even though he's had a long day at the bakery, and his leg must be aching by now, she knows. He wants her.

Sometimes she wears the white dress and nothing else. Sometimes she wears his coat—the one he gave her—and nothing else. And because the dominant Goddess in her will never truly go away, sometimes she strips completely while he's forced to remain seated without touching (her or himself), or moving, or speaking.

Other times, she lets him decide how they will proceed. She wonders how it will be tonight.

Peeta rubs their noses together and murmurs, "Are you wearing panties?"

She licks the seam of his chapped lips. "Check me."

It's unpredictable whether she wears undergarments or not. She regularly fluctuates between her old and new manners of dressing. He likes to guess. More than that, he likes to find out whether he's right.

He reaches into the opening of her coat, fingers sliding around her waist and dipping into the back of her pants, cupping her rear—which he discovers is bare. His palms draw circles over her bottom. She shifts closer. As he navigates the split of her backside, a sleigh whooshes past them, its bells ringing out and overlapping her moans.

They crush themselves against each other while pearls of snow drop from the sky and conceal the fervor taking place beneath their wool coats. Not that she, nor Peeta, pay heed to this. Even though the rest of the stragglers have shifted to the opposite side of the tree, neither of them cares that they're still in public. Sometimes Katniss thinks she's still invisible, and Peeta has always been uninhibited.

He drags his fingers out of her pants and up her back, sliding to the front and meeting her uncovered breasts. The hot weight of her fills his palms. Her nipples crystallize beneath his thumbs, and she melts.

"Enough," she gasps.

"Where then?"

She walks backward. He follows, stalking her into the waiting arms of the tree. They stop when her body is pressed against the bark. The ornaments bob from the branches and smack into their heads. Threads of pine needles graze her cheek and stick into his blond hair. The red and white lights blink around them.

Her damp core and his trembling hands ache for contact. He unzips her pants and brushes his nails through the hair between her parted thighs. She is so ready.

His thumb presses down on that sweet little button of hers. Instinctively, her head lolls against the tree and her hips jolt forward, straining for more, more, more. With a growl, his index finger traces her opening, coaxing another onslaught of thick nectar. Her eyes squint shut and, _oh beloved_, his fingers—one, then two, then three—pry her apart. Over and over, he strokes her, scooping up her arousal.

Katniss squeezes Peeta's broad shoulders and circles her hips. He switches tactics and goes still, permitting her to dictate the rhythm as she rides his fingers.

Beyond their haven, someone is still caroling. Or is that whistling? Or more sleigh bells? Or is it his ragged breathing?

"Deeper," he urges. "Go deeper."

She nods and grinds down onto his knuckles, making sure he can feel every soaked inch of her. Their moans harden and gain momentum. They're lovers. They're young and primal and eager, but her stamina is no longer that of a deity.

He takes over again. The branches jerk up and down, matching the tempo of his flexing arm and pumping fingers. In spite of the cold, sweat trickles down the back of her neck. The Christmas lights flash brighter. They swirl together but fail to overshadow the dilated blueness of his gaze, _pure_ as the day she met him.

The cry she releases is sharp and swift. He doesn't silence her.

Her spine bows off the tree, thighs quivering as she pulsates. His stare is direct as he watches it happen. Only when she dissolves onto his chest does he mold his mouth to hers in a tender kiss. They savor the aftermath. The tree returns to its dormant, decorative state. Katniss imagines the angel in the not-as-short-as-hers dress grinning down on them.

They emerge from their hiding spot and are met with looks of neighborly skepticism. They laugh. On the way home, she laces their hands together and slows her pace to accommodate his limp.

Peeta sneezes. Katniss halts. She tightens her grip on his wrist. She stares at him.

"It's okay," he says. "It's just a sniffle. I'm fine."

She relaxes. He's fine.

Ever since that night last Christmas Eve, when she nearly lost him, she has become a worrier. Every cough, every headache, every small thing chokes her with fear. She is still learning to endure the frailty of a mortal existence, how to decipher the real threats from the not real threats.

A sneeze is a not real threat. She's been told this before. It will take a while for her to accept.

She pushes her forehead against his. "You're mine."

"I'm yours."

"You don't belong to fate."

He shrugs. "Not today. Neither of us do, right?" He takes her hand again. "C'mon. I have a surprise for you."

kpkpkpkpkp

Peeta covers Katniss's eyes as he guides her into the lake cottage. Her arms pitch out in front of her, grasping nothing but air. This frustrates her and amuses him.

She scoffs. "Deities don't fancy surprises."

"Whatever. You're not a deity anymore. Keep walking."

Grudgingly, she does as she's told and stumbles with him into the warmth they call home. The Heavens had worked their magic, making it painless to merge her life with the human world. They'd provided her with a documented identity, including a birth date that made her officially eighteen, enabling her to bypass school and go straight to work.

Peeta helped her get a job at the used bookstore, run by an older man with a sourpuss expression permanently stamped onto his face. He'd immediately identified her as "the sweetheart who'd stolen Peeta's coat."

The store's owner has a weakness for alcohol but nevertheless manages his business just fine. He appreciates Katniss's dexterity when it comes to shelving books and her knowledge of stories. Rare books, myths, and legends in particular—as well as romance and erotica.

Katniss tends to get carried away recommending smut to the women who frequent the shop. Sometimes a group of customers will gather at the back, where she reads her favorite steamy passages aloud. The owner can't complain, as those readings are bringing in more sales.

Another thing The Heavens provided Katniss with was a deed to the land by the lake. Armed with the document, she manufactured a story: She was an orphan who recently inherited the plot from a long-lost "uncle" who never resided or built anything there. And since the lake was an isolated spot that no one ever visited, Katniss easily convinced the townspeople that she'd built the cottage shortly before the start of winter, using the inheritance money from her so-called uncle.

Eager for fresh gossip, the residents had swallowed the bio whole. Katniss and The Heavens are nothing if not good at fabricating tales.

Peeta moved in with her after he graduated high school. As a gift, the residents had gotten together to pave a trail from the cottage into town, making it easier for him to navigate the forest with his limp and drive his family's old truck to the bakery. The selflessness of this world staggers Katniss. She is still learning how to respond to the joy of giving.

Not to mention the concept of surprises, which makes Peeta so excited that she can't help but laugh, even as she tries to wrestle his hands from her eyes.

"Release me," she says.

"Not yet," he says.

"When?"

"Behave yourself. The surprise will come once you've settled down."

His intimate tone reminds her of their first encounters. Back when this wintry-eyed boy wasn't allowed to touch her, when she'd used her powers to prevent physical contact, when his hand would simply pass through her, when all he had were words to express what he longed to do. She yearns for such words again.

"Then talk," she beeches. "Talk to me, beloved."

"First, I'm going to surprise you. And you'll like it. And then, later tonight..." He lets the sentence hang open, provoking an influx of wicked thoughts.

"Later what? Later _what_?"

"I'll let you dominate me. I'll let you touch my hard, hungry body. I'll let you stroke me, taste me, ride me while the headboard knocks against the wall—"

"Let me go. Let me go this instant!"

He chuckles, kisses the back of her earlobe, and removes his palms from her lids. She is about to spin around and pounce on him...until she sees what he's done. Nestled beside the fireplace is a tree. Hand-painted ornaments gleam from the branches, and she knows they were crafted by him**,** and she knows this tree was also chopped and carried by him. She's spent ages living in the woods, but she's never had a Christmas tree before. It's beautiful.

He must have worked so hard. His leg must have been killing him.

She turns and rubs his hip. "Did you hurt yourself? You could have—"

He grabs her shoulders and twists her back around. "Go have a look."

Shyly, she approaches the tree, head angled to the side. She circles it, her finger tracing every glass ball painted with different moments of their life together. The Evergreen she climbed to escape him when they met. The snowy bridge where they held their palms together but made no contact. The cottage when it used to be made of glass. The cup of tea that she'd tried to convince him was spiced with the afterglow of sex. The coat he gave her. Her bow. Her white dress. The frozen lake where he taught her to ice all of these is the dandelion-painted ornament she took from his house.

He appears beside her. "It's early, but I wanted this to be one of your presents."

"It's magic."

"It's yours."

"No. It's ours."

"I love you," he says.

His words cast a spell over her. She loves him, too. She desires him. She desires his soul, his cries, his laughter, his smile, his touch. His body.

Grinning at her dark expression, he backs up.

She prowls him around the tree. "Where do you think you're going, my only one?"

Peeta holds out his arms. "Come and get me."

The way his hip twitches because of his limp reminds her of how it affects his movements in bed, how it enables him to hit spots that would remain otherwise uncharted, how it makes them both groan. She drafts up images in her mind of his plush backside flexing between her thighs.

They pause. They smirk.

She sprints after him. He gives chase. He darts to the other side of the room, but she leaps across the couch and cuts him off by the kitchen. Her feet smack the ground as she lands in front of him. Shrieking like a damsel, he averts her grasp and whips back around, taking refuge behind a desk. Laughing in shock at the high pitched-noise he made, Katniss halts on the other side.

They flatten their hands on the surface. They breathe roughly. They face off.

Peeta jerks to the left, but she matches him, blocking his escape.

He jerks to the right. So does she.

His lower lip puckers as he blows the bangs from his forehead. Her mirth vanishes. She _will_ catch him. She is the huntress. He is the target. This is her main focus.

Which is why she doesn't see it coming. Peeta lurches across the desk, grabs the back of her head, and kisses her. It's hard, swift, and over before she registers what just happened. She blinks, dazed, then hisses when she realizes he's gotten away.

The bedroom door slams shut behind him. Two seconds later, it blows open from the force of her shove. Her eyes scan the room, disregarding the closet and the space beneath the bed before landing on the heavy draperies framing the window. The material shifts.

_Ahhhh._

Katniss marches forward. The curtains explode when he barrels from them, chuckling and once again dodging her grip. They run back into the living room. Peeta knocks a chair in her path, which she flips into the air and out of the way. The sound of it crashing to the floor causes him to turn in surprise.

She tackles him. She is sure-footed, and his leg cannot take a harsh fall, and therefore she is careful. She makes certain the impact sends them tumbling onto the sofa instead of the floor.

She straddles his waist and purrs, "I've got you."

He gazes up at her. "You always have me."

A blissful sort of agony overtakes her. The image of him blushing, waiting, offering, stirs her blood. Every vessel catapults to her center, where she can feel herself glistening.

He watches her undress, mouth partially open and ripe for her kiss. She gives it to him. She bends over, her breasts pitching forward and crushing against his chest as she takes his mouth. She tilts his head to deepen the kiss. Her tongue glides between his lips, and he welcomes the taste.

"Take me," he begs. "Please."

She wrenches his sweater over his head and flings it to the side, then goes to work on his pants. The instant she frees him, his head falls back in relief. She rubs herself flush with his body, savoring the contact of their nakedness. And Heavens, she loves the way he bucks up against her.

Katniss sinks down onto his length, squeezing him inside her, wetting him. She growls at the desperate little _oh _that rasps from his lips. She rocks up and down, tormenting him with her slow pace, ignoring his whimpers for her to go faster. He attempts to thrust, but she holds him down, telling him to _shush_.

_Just wait. Just feel. Just be patient._

Peeta throws his head back, his Adam's apple hammering in his throat, beads of sweat gathering at the base. She licks away the salt.

She whispers in his ear, "You are the sweetest fuck on earth."

He makes a gravely noise."More," he keens. "Give me more. Give it to me."

Katniss jerks her hips, riding him harder. His length is getting more rigid. He's ready. He's beautiful. She speeds up. The force of her movements pounds him into the cushions.

Her beloved goes silent. His body freezes. His eyes roll to the back of his head.

"That's it," she pants. "Come, my love."

He screams. She kisses him into oblivion. Her mouth clamps onto his, tasting the pressure of his gentle wheezing, the hot sugar on his tongue. Nothing compares to hearing Peeta orgasm. It's a phenomenon, akin to discovering a bright bud in a dark world, the petals sprouting for her greedy touch.

After, he goes limp. He reaches out for her. She lays on her side, facing him, and tucks her arms into his chest as they wait for their breathing to even out. He toys with her hair.

She asks, "Did you ever think about who your match would be someday?"

His voice is smooth as velvet and so matter-of-fact that it infuriates her. "I didn't expect anyone would want me. I'm handicapped and say whatever I think."

"You're divine," she snaps. "And kind and honest."

He smiles. "I'm in love with your temper."

She winds her leg around his.

"I guess I just wanted somebody who would really know me," he says. "Even if they didn't at first, or if they saw things differently, they would still get me. And I'd get them."

"It's a mystery to me. Two opposing minds fitting together."

"Ours do," he points out. "If we were too similar, we'd clash heads. It's not a mystery at all."

She thinks back to the last conversation she had with Anger, right after he saved her and Peeta from Venus. She'd told the fellow hunter that love and anger weren't the same, and he countered that.

_They're both fierce emotions. They're both passionate. They breed the same kind of fire._

She realizes that Peeta is right. Perhaps this is why she'd never felt anything for Anger except weariness. Yet she's still confused.

"We clash heads anyway," she muses.

"Yeah, but not all the time—only when we're throwing things at the wall. Anyway, I wanted somebody I could talk to without thinking, _Do I sound stupid? Does she like what she hears?_ I mean, I wanted that somebody to like the things I said, but not if it meant she wasn't being herself. Or I wasn't. You know?"

"I know."

"What did you imagine for your somebody?"

"I was a goddess. My job was to bring other people together, not find a personal mate."

"Get over yourself," Peeta laughs at her brooding tone. "Answer the question."

"Very well. I thought about it. But all I desired was...well, I wanted somebody to fall asleep with."

"I can do that."

"You've done more than that. You taught me what everyone's somebody is supposed to be: real."

"Real," he echoes.

They whisper declarations, exchange random thoughts, swap stories of their very simple day. They talk themselves to sleep. When they wake up, it's still dark outside. The fire in the hearth glows. Their bare skin glows. The lights from the tree glow, but not in a normal way. The glow is too bright and thick, and it reflects off of her and Peeta. Their bodies flash as if struck by something.

"This has to be a dream," Peeta says, rubbing the slumber from his eyes.

Katniss grins at the tree. "No, it's not. It's a sign from The Heavens."

"A sign?"

"That I still have one more match to complete."

He bolts upright, worried, but she eases his fears with a kiss. She knows what the light is telling her. It's a symbol of what she has known since she became human. Peeta is her match, but they have not yet promised eternity to each other.

She slides off the couch, pulls him to his feet, and guides him to the tree. She wants this moment is to be an early Christmas present, like the one he'd given her.

She cannot believe the sentimentality of her thoughts, but this is often the case with him. He inspires her to make exceptions.

"I know we're young," she begins. "But I've lived for centuries, and we both can see mythological beings, so I figure this is okay."

Katniss sinks to one knee.

Peeta sucks in a breath.

"This last match is my own," she says.

"Holy shhh..." he trails off, jaw unhinged.

They're both bare and nervous. She takes his trembling hands but then hesitates.

"I don't have a ring," she frets.

"Who cares? Keep going."

"Peeta, will you—"

"Yes."

"I haven't asked yet."

"Sorry."

"Will you be my eternity? Will you be my somebody?"

He whispers his answer against her mouth. As their mortal bodies wrap around each other, the tree returns to its normal glow. Offering her neck to his lips, Katniss's head turns to the side and notices a silhouette of wings stretching across the carpet. For a second, she is baffled. But it's only an ornament at the top of the tree.

She tells Peeta, and he laughs, and she laughs. There is no Love deity watching them. And even if there was, it wouldn't have wings, and they wouldn't need its arrow. Because no matter what, this moment is still their doing. This moment would have happened anyway.


End file.
